Dead in Absentia
by WolfButler
Summary: Extract: "Butler understood the emotions battering his young charge. He too had lost someone aboard the Fowl Star... Unfortunately, The Major's body had turned up in a Tchersky morgue." - Hadn't it? This is the story of the Butler before 'The Butler'. COMPLETE
1. The Start of Something

**It's been a while on the way, but it's finally done. And here it is.**

**Feel free to skip to the good part, but if you're interested in how this came about, here you are.**

**I might as well start with the quotes that inspired it.**

**Artemis Fowl - Book One, Page 29, Paperback Version –  
**_**"The Russian Mafia did not take too kindly to a Westerner muscling in on their market, so decided to send a message. This message took the form of a stolen Stinger missile launched at the Fowl Star on her way past Murmansk. Artemis Senior was on board the shop, along with Butler's uncle and 250,000 cans of cola. It was quite an explosion."**_

**Artemis Fowl: The Arctic Incident - Book Two, Page 43, Paperback Version –  
**_**"Butler understood the emotions battering his young charge. He too had lost someone aboard the Fowl Star. His uncle, The Major, had been assigned to Artemis's father on that fateful trip. Unfortunately, The Major's body had turned up in a Tchersky morgue."**_

**DISCLAIMER:- Firstly, a confession. I've realised that I've managed to make my version of The Major entirely out of the above two quotes. I thought I'd used more references than that, but that'll be my imagination running away with an idea again. Unfortunately, that still doesn't mean I get to own him, his awesome nephew and niece, or anything else from the **_**Artemis Fowl **_**Series at all really. So no, I can't publish these things for money… unfortunately for me.**

**Now, to the reason of this story. The Butlers always get shoved to the background, don't they? Their story is told in a few paragraphs per book and that's it. But never fear, that's why I'm here!**

**So, to the true story of The Major. (Why isn't he an option on the choose a character section yet, surely I've written enough about him by now?)**

**Onwards!**

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

_**The Start of Something**_

**MALIN BEG, NORTHERN IRELAND – PRESENT DAY**

The man sat on the edge of the cliff, staring out to sea. The waves crashing onto the rocks nearly 2000ft below, reminded him that, no matter how big, strong or trained you were, there was always something more powerful and merciless than you. Seabirds plummeted from the cliff-face, seagulls pinwheeled in the updraft, crying out sweet freedom.

_Who said loneliness was a bad feeling?_

The man stepped away from the edge. Some of the _Slieve League_ cliffs overhung a good couple of metres, and he was much heavier than the sheep that scrambled over the rough grass and heather. Standing near the edge was never a good idea. Instead, he slung his bag off his shoulder and settled himself down, leaning against a boulder and continued his staring out to sea. The sun was setting and the light of it glinted off his dark eyes, shining them a bright gold and accentuating the shadows on his face. He scowled.

"You'd know what to do, wouldn't you?" he muttered, reaching into the bag and holding a can by the ends, flicking it twice to stop it fizzing over before cracking it open with a muffled hiss.

His uncle never approved of alcohol. Drinking beer at what was taken as his unofficial gravesite seemed more than disrespectful. Besides. Butler had long since learnt that drowning his sorrows never turned out well. So instead, he sat on the edge of a sea cliff, looking out into the sunset, and drank his can of Coke.

Not a single human broke his solitude. His was the only vehicle in the carpark. And that was almost a kilometre away from where he sat. He was completely alone.

Just the way he liked it.

Here was the place he went to where, at the rare times in his life when he had time to himself, he spoke to his uncle, to his parents and to anyone else he had lost, at sea or otherwise.

The Major's body had been buried over in Russia. Butler wasn't too bothered about that. It was an unwritten Butler-family rule – not to give one where your body ended up.

_Bury me where I fall._

The quote was written on every Butler's will. It wasn't meant literally, of course. Rather, plant whatever's left of me in the ground at your closest convenience. After all, it would be stupid to spend money on transporting a body back from another country. Unless, of course, something important could be smuggled back with it. That was a different case. Regardless, there was often little left of a Butler's body to bury anyway, and almost always it was in a state that no-one would want to be looking at in a ceremony such as a funeral.

As it was, The Major had been buried somewhere near the Bay of Kola. As far as he knew, no-one had ever visited it for personal reasons. Even when they had made the trip over to Russia for the rescue mission with the fairies, Butler hadn't had the time to bow his head at the stone that represented the man who had practically brought him up. Artemis, so wrapped up in his own daddy-issues, hadn't thought to ask his bodyguard if he had wanted to visit the grave of the man that had been like a father to him. But to be fair, Butler had hardly considered it himself, anyway. The stone meant nothing to him. The writing on it was probably impersonal and simple and his uncle was six feet under the solid, snow covered ground and never coming back.

No, this was where he felt closest to those who had left him behind. And now that ever-extending list even included Artemis. His principal. The one person who should have been guaranteed to be left behind by _him_. Of course, Butler still firmly believed Artemis was alive and well. It was just _where_ that was the problem.

The sun was almost gone now. The last sliver of sunlight glimmered on the horizon and Butler watched it sink away, leaving behind a bloodstained sky.

_Bloodstained._

Butler snorted, wondering when his metaphoric imagination had become so ironic. It was probably simply following in the path of his dry sense of humour. He was a strong believer in the saying, 'If you didn't laugh, you'd have to cry'.

He breathed deeply through his nose, the cold salt air burning the back of his throat. The gulls screamed on and for a moment Butler considered yelling along with them. But even here in the back of beyond, some well-meaning dog walker would probably report the roaring. Possibly as overhearing a wild animal howling, or somebody being murdered. No. Instead Butler locked the mental box he housed his emotions in and picked himself up off the grass, brushing down his combats. _Combats._ It still felt weird wearing his own choice of clothing rather than the reinforced suits that passed as a bodyguard's uniform. He had spent a good half of his life in them. His uncle had lived and died in the clothing.

_Quit your maudlin, boy. Anyone would think you were full-blooded Irish._

Butler had long since stopped jumping at the mental flashbacks of his uncle. Or of anyone else, for that matter. A person who had lived a life like his, was well used to the mind's tricks of constantly replaying memories. Usually the worst ones, unfortunately. If you didn't become accustomed to them, you'd probably end up in a padded cell talking back to them.

The latest mental comment his brain had dredged up was a longstanding joke for his uncle - or at least it had been – that Butler had been brought up by his Irish mother, with, at least for the first ten years of his life, no other noteworthy role model. The Major had often taunted him that it was her fault he had a touch more mercy in him than Madame Ko would've liked. Juliet, even more so. Butler was usually able to switch his conscience off, to an extent. But Juliet never could. Hence why she was following the career path of a wrestler, rather than a bodyguard.

It occurred to Butler that he hadn't phoned his little sister in a while. Although, it was much more of an oddity that _she_ hadn't rang _him_. She had practically had him on suicide watch for the first month or so after Artemis's disappearance. Until he had assured her that he knew he'd be coming back and wasn't about to attempt being dead when he did return. She almost believed him. Something in her head told her he wasn't lying. She just couldn't put a finger on _what_.

Of course the mindwipe had taken care of that.

As if reading his thoughts, his phone buzzed. Butler wouldn't be surprised if it was Juliet. She was oddly in tune with his mental ramblings. But this time, as it happened, it wasn't.

His heart clenched at the name lit up in the screen.

One letter - _F_

He answered it.

"Butler?"

"Foaly," Butler kept his voice level.

"How are you doing?"

"I've been worse."

"Really? Because I'm looking at your ugly mug on my satellite image here and you ain't looking so good, mate."

Butler rolled his eyes. Was there no privacy anymore? Even here Foaly was keeping tabs on him. Butler wondered how successful the centaur would be if he actually _tried _hiding from him.

"And I saw that," Foaly snickered. "Don't go rolling your eyes at me, mudman."

"I'm fine, Foaly, really. Now what are you ringing for?"

"Jeesh, keep your hair on. I was only asking. You soldier types… always straight to the point. What happened to some good old fashioned manners?"

"Manners take time. Time in which you can be shot. After which, you probably _won't _be OK so in all honesty who give a flying shit about how you are in the first place?" Butler explained, fairly calmly. "Now. The news... please?"

Foaly was silent for another stretching second before he let out a horsey sigh.

"Well, I don't want to get your hopes up," he admitted. "But we're getting reports of a mudman named Artemis Fowl living in Murmansk."

"A man?" Butler noticed the word change from 'boy'.

"Yeah, you see, that's the thing. This guy is, according to eye-witness accounts, about fifty-odd. Maybe older."

"Meaning?" Butler asked, brain flicking through the possible reasons for the fact that Artemis could well be fifteen years older than him now, when the boy hadn't even_ been_ fifteen years old when he had vanished.

"They've been gone three months. Artemis would have remembered the date he left. And if they got back at completely the wrong time, say forty-odd years ago, there would be no point trying to make contact with any of us. We wouldn't believe them and we wouldn't know eachother. You'd be… what? I'm no good with human aging, but the Holly of the time would've barely been an adolescent."

"I probably wouldn't have been born," Butler muttered, still thinking. "So he'd reveal himself now. When we've had time to get used to the idea of them being gone."

"Yup. And he's never turned up on searches before now because either he's hidden himself well, or we never had any reason to search for him so we've never found him."

There was a pause, filled only with the silence of thinking.

"Right. I best go see if it's him then."

"I can get you a lift if you want?"

"I have some stuff I need to pick up first," Butler nodded. He was approximately four and a half hours away from Fowl Manor. Four, if he pushed it… but not in his current transport. So, within five hours he could be on his way to Murmansk, armed and ready.

"Yeah I guessed you might," Foaly whinnied. "Your sister's trying to ring you by the way. I better go."

"I'll talk to her. She might want to come with me."

"No good for the lifts then, Butler. I know it's Juliet, but the council…"

"Understood, Foaly. I'll get back to you."

Butler cut the call and immediately answered Juliet.

"Yes?" he answered, as blunt as ever.

"What the hell have you been doing? I've been ringing. Six rings, bro. Six! You going deaf?"

"I was in the shower," Butler tried half-heartedly, sheltering the phone from the sea breeze.

"Don't lie," Juliet laughed. "One, no steam fizzle, just some weird windy noise. Two, you don't sound like you're in the bathroom, you sound like you're outside. Three, you're not doing that annoying water-up-your-nose sniffing thing you always do when you get out of the shower."

"Well done," Butler half-smiled on the other side of the world. Nothing got past his sister. Of course it didn't. She was a Butler.

"Which means you're out. Which, unless you've decided to sit on a roof again, or you've had a brain transplant and you're _socialising_, means you're up at the point, chatting to the only people you actually talk to."

"No, no more sitting on roofs," Butler admitted. "So yes, that's where I am. Well deduced."

"I should think so. Didn't someone phone the firebrigade last time?"

"Yes," Butler sighed. "They couldn't see a ladder so '_naturally_ _assumed'_ I was stuck. Damn civilians."

"You sound like uncle," Juliet chuckled softly. "You _must_ be getting old."

"Huh," Butler grunted. He no longer rented accommodation, and not just for the reason that irritating, well-meaning neighbours constantly butted in on his life, either. "So, did you ring for anything in particular, or just to tease me about me age?"

"Nope, that's about it," he could practically _hear_ her smiling now. "Other than to check you're still on the top of the cliff and not lying at the bottom of the sea, of course."

"Yup," Butler told her. "Still dry."

"Oh and to check that the floor hasn't fallen out of that rust bucket of yours."

"She's still kicking, Jules," Butler almost chuckled. "No _Flintstones_ moments as of yet."

"What's wrong with you?" Juliet asked sceptically. "You sound… happy-ish."

Butler snorted. It sounded as though his sister was accusing him of taking drugs.

"I'm just glad you called."

"Aww, you big softy."

"… because," Butler continued, not about to be accused of affection without reason. "There's been some news. Someone called Artemis Fowl has turned up in Russia."

Butler heard the warm Mexican air whistle into his sister's lungs.

"Where abouts?"

"Murmansk."

"Do you think he'd head there?"

"Who knows? Maybe. It's a lead anyway. And I'm taking it."

"When?"

"Tonight. Tomorrow at the latest. As soon as I can get my stuff from the manor and transport to Russia."

"Are you going to tell the Fowls?"

"Not yet."

"Good shout," Juliet agreed. Then she paused. "Can you wait a day?"

Butler ground his teeth in annoyance, but he had known this had been coming.

"I can get a plane ticket tonight. I can be home in a day. Will you wait for me?"

It brought a small smile to her big brother's face that Juliet, despite legally being an American citizen, still called Ireland 'home'. Then again, home was where the family was. And they were the only family they had left.

"_Pleeease?_"

Butler kneaded his forehead in frustration, but if he said no, then she'd only hunt him down and catch him up anyway and then be mardy with him when she did eventually find him. Which she probably would, because as good as he was at hiding, he had been the one to teach her to hunt.

"Fine," he relented grudgingly. "But be careful."

"Yes!" she laughed in triumph. "And yeah, course I will. Thanks, bro."

Butler _'huh'_-ed again and put the phone down. She'd probably be mad at him for that too, but it would be counteracted by the smug satisfaction she would be feeling at winning an argument with him, once again.

For a few more seconds, he watched the sun disappear. Then he turned his back on the sea and headed back down the thin, eroded path to the carpark where his current mode of transport cast a long oblong shadow over the rough tarmac in the dim post-sunset light. Not, unfortunately, the Bentley. Technically, despite the fact that Butler still firmly believed that his uncle had more-than-earned the right to own the car, it belonged to the Fowls. And he wasn't _technically _under active service employment for the Fowls. Although they _were_ paying him leave-pay. Which had been enough to buy and renovate the 'rust-bucket' as Juliet had dubbed it. Butler cranked the door open and settled into the driver's seat of the dusty-blue VW 'hippie-style' van he had bought as a write-off and fixed up. He slung his bag into the back on top of the various boxes of bits and pieces of metal that most people would believe were engine parts and that were actually sections of gun that it would take Butler less than thirty seconds to find and assemble. Even in the dark. There was also a bed and a gas-powered stove in the back too, although both were more than a little too small for a man of his size to use comfortably. Not that he was used to being comfortable.

It creaked and complained at him and he tutted quietly to it as though quietening an old cart-horse.

"Oil again?" he muttered, patting the worn steering-wheel.

He swore the metal box was drinking WD-40 like an alcoholic downed ale. It didn't matter. He had become oddly fond of the rusty old vehicle. He had bought it almost on a whim. 'Almost', because Butler's never did _anything_ without at least a little consideration. He had been jogging up the road past the local scrapyard in the rain, since he had taken the bus into the town (that had been an experience - or at least it had been for the old lady sat opposite the bodyguard) to buy some dubbin for his boots and had calculated it would be quicker to _walk_ back to the manor than to wait for the return bus.

And so he had seen the van. And then he had bought it. And had it towed back to manor and worked on it until it moved under its own steam.

Despite spending the last decade and then some as a full-time bodyguard, he was still a soldier at heart. He needed something to do. Something to keep his hands busy. Because whilst he was thinking about the van, he could push everything else to the back of his mind. Entire days would go by spent under it, welding rust spots or in the garage with his head buried in the engine at the back, with only the thrum of the rain on the tin roof for company.

And this was the result.

It looked battered and bruised, but its engine ran perfectly. A little like its current owner. The engine was the only thing he had fixed, other than the radio, which burst into life when he turned the key.

… _Car Wash!... Working at the Car Wash, yeah! ... Car Wash…_

The song blared out of the recently fixed radio and Butler had to smirk. If the dead sent messages then this was definitely one of them. He cranked the window open and let the strong Irish air blast onto his face, draping an arm down the side of the door and tapping the scrappy blue paint of the rusted door panel rhythmically as it rattled along the potholed road.

_Should've fixed-up the outside too, half-a-job._

Butler shook the memory from his head. The Major _had_ always been meticulous about the appearance of his vehicles.

* * *

**WARNING: Traditionally these would be placed at the start of the chapter, but that bit up there was long enough as it was. So: there will be swearing, violence, deaths, more angst than I have written in the past and the usual slightly dark sense of humour of a certain bodyguard.**

**It is rated 'T' because I personally really do not think it's worth an 'M' rating at all, if anyone disagrees, feel free to tell me.**

**This is a bit different to what I normally write, but we'll see how it goes.**

**So, enough of me waffling. I'd say strap yourselves into your own personal seat in what I am affectionately calling 'The Butler-Mobile', but you'll have to bring your own seatbelt. That's it… don't worry about the hole in the floor, it's good for ventilation…oh and mind that box, it's probably explosive…**

**Wolfy  
ooo  
O**


	2. And Then There Were Two

**Thanks to:**_** ShadowHuntress, Fowl Star 57, Steinbock, animato22 **_**and****_ HolidayBoredom_ for letting me know what they think and**** to:**_** Readergirl99, 2whitie, animato22 **_**and**_** AriLivesnotDylan **_**for the alerts.**

**And so without further ado, o****nwards!**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO**

_**And Then There Were Two**_

_**THE PAST**_

Before the story starts in earnest, it would probably be better to inform those of you who are unfamiliar with the family history of the Butlers, with some of the basic facts. Basic, not because the details are secret (which they of course are), but because _'basic' _is all the information anyone but the Butlers themselves have on their history.

The birth of Beckett and Myles took a toll on their mother. They were both large and boisterous babies and twins were a rarity in the family. She was never quite the same again, succumbing to illness often and finally giving up the fight when her sons had turned nineteen. It was perhaps the best thing that could have happened, as it not only allowed the twins to focus solely on their careers, but prevented her from having to suffer the vast amounts of stress that she would otherwise have done, in the years ahead.

The boys, or rather young men, went through all the usual training before gaining their Blue Diamond Tattoos, and later, their charges. This may confuse you, as likely you are under the impression that the Beckett and Myles were born to be protected, not the other way around. But that would be because you have assumed that the twins we are discussing share the last name of Fowl.

You would be mistaken.

The Fowl twins appear much later in this story, barely filling roles at all, other than to serve as true reminders of the supreme and never-ending gratitude their father has for their namesakes. The twins this story focuses on are not the young Fowl pair, but a duo of brothers destined for a very different life. The twins we will see but a small glimpse of the secretive lives of, are named Beckett and Myles Butler.

Perhaps it would first be helpful to explain a little more about the Butler family and their roles as bodyguards for the Fowls. It is well known that a Butler is paired with a Fowl for life, no matter how long or short that may be and that they will be referred to as 'Butler' by their charges, their names remaining a secret until their contract ends. And the ending of a Butler's contract almost always involves at least one death.

However, there is the obvious issue of multiple Butlers working within the boundaries of Fowl Manor with the multiple generations of Fowls, all of whom need round the clock guards. To solve confusion, the first serving member of the family, Virgil Butler, was referred to as 'Butler', this bodyguard's understudy, and guarder of the next generation, was referred to by a different name. At the time, it was a Butler named 'The Captain'. And so the tradition continued, the third, fifth, seventh and so on Butlers were referred to as 'Butler'. And the fourth, sixth, eighth and so on Butlers where given a nickname. A rank, perhaps. A code name they had previously used. With the twins, it was no different. The eldest twin, Beckett, was granted the name of 'Butler', as their father, who was guarding the Fowl patriarch at the time, had always been referred to as 'The Colonel' since _his_ father had been the previous 'Butler' placed at Fowl Manor. What differed with Beckett and Myles was that, by some freak coincidence, twin Fowls were born at the same time as there were twin Butlers waiting to guard them. And so they both received charges on the same day, simultaneously forming identical pairs, for both sets of twins were so. Myles received his own code name. As the younger twin, he guarded the younger Fowl twin and, due to the tradition of naming the second Butler by a rank they had earned in the past, he came to be known to everyone but his closest family as 'The Major'.

In terms of happiness, the story goes rapidly downhill from here. Beckett and Myles were more than arguably the best pair of bodyguards ever seen in the business. They worked together as though linked by some psychic ability. Their father, although Alexandr Butler would almost never admit it aloud, was incredibly proud of his sons. In the short time they worked together for the Fowls, they prevented three assassination attempts on the older Fowl, as well as keeping their own charges and the Mrs. Fowl of the time, safe and well.

And then it happened.

There are some things that even a Blue Diamond bodyguard cannot protect their charge against.

Things so small that even the most observant cannot see, bullets cannot stop and no amount of training can prevent.

Viruses.

It was perhaps ironic that the larger of the twins, the eldest, a young boy named Orion, fell victim to the illness.

He fought as hard as any eleven month old baby can fight. His father searched the world for a cure to his illness, but the child eventually died of the sickness and with him, a piece of his parents. They were never quite as loving as they had been before with little Artemis after his twin's death. The boy grew up clever and appreciated, but never enough to consider himself truly loved. It was the way he would raise his firstborn when the time came. But this story is not as much about Artemis Fowl the First as it is about his bodyguard, Myles 'The Major' Butler.

* * *

_**FOWL MANOR, DUBLIN - THE PAST**_

"_Beck?"_

"_Don't talk to me."_

"_Beckett..."_

"_Just shut it, Myles!" his brother snapped, shoving him so hard that he stepped backwards involuntarily and hit his head on the low doorframe. Myles watched as his brother stormed down the corridor and knew it was best not to follow him. He could do nothing. Before long, a rhythmic thumping told him that his twin was taking his anger out on something else rather than him and a thin wail forced the youngest Butler of the house to climb the stairs wearily to his charge's room. Up until a few hours ago, it had belonged to __**both**__ their charges. Now, Myles reckoned, his brother would never set foot in the room again._

_He pulled one of the rocking chairs up to the edge of the cot and dangled his hand over for baby Artemis to play with. The little boy would have no idea what was going on. No idea that he had suddenly become as brotherless as Myles felt._

_The baby gurgled, choking a sob identical to the one that was trapped somewhere inside his bodyguard._

"_Shh, Arty. Hush," he muttered absentmindedly, scrubbing his free hand over his face wearily._

_He needed a shave. And a shower. And for the last 24 hours to undo themselves and never return._

_Alexandr Butler watched his youngest from the doorway, knowing, with a heavy heart, that things were about to change._

_A few days after the doctors of Orion Fowl had pronounced the child dead, the Butler twins were in the dojo. They had just finished their morning sparring session when Beckett dropped his bombshell, so to speak._

"_I'm leaving," he said, as firmly as if his twin had already objected to the statement._

"_You're what?" Myles choked on the water he was gulping down._

_His brother thumped him on the back heavily, handed him a towel and continued. "You heard me."_

"_Yeah, but __**what?**__" Myles repeated, wiping the rag over his face and then dropping it to the floor, scrubbing it dry with his foot. Their father would not be pleased if the gym floor developed damp patches._

"_What do you mean __**'what'?**__" Beckett growled bitterly. "There's nothing for me here. My charge __**died**__, remember? My contract finishes at the end of the month and the Fowls don't need another bodyguard hanging around with you and Dad. Especially not one that just reminds them that there should be another twin in the manor."_

"_But Beck... surely..."_

"_Surely __**what, **__My? Surely we can bring Orion back from the dead? Surely I could stick around because we always said we'd stick together. Things change, little brother."_

"_I'm not thick, Beckett," Myles snapped, standing up and beginning to pace - a habit he had inherited from his father and would continue to perform throughout his life. "I'm just saying. It never hurts to have another guard on the team."_

"_It'll hurt **them**. And it'll hurt **me**. Knowing that I should be guarding someone!" Beckett yelled. "It'll hurt watching __**you**__ guarding __**him**__. Watching Artemis grow up like Orion should have. Like looking in the mirror and seeing the perfect world that I can't reach."_

_Myles had nothing to say to the outburst and his brother threw his own water bottle to the floor angrily, storming over to a punchbag and hitting it furiously. Myles let his brother do so and once he had stopped and sunk against the wall, head in hands, he stepped over tentatively and sat beside his twin._

"_I can't stay, Myles," he whispered. "I'm sorry."_

"_I know," Myles said quietly and draped an arm over his big brother's shoulder._

"_You don't," he grunted._

"_I guarded Orion as much as you guarded Artemis. We're a team, Beck. And I know **why** you can't stay. I just wish you could."_

_"Yeah... me too."_

_Myles removed his arm from his twin's shoulder and simply leant against him. The brothers sat like that for what seemed like an age until finally, the elder spoke._

"_Well, I better go tell Dad and the Fowls."_

"_You mean you didn't already?" Myles raised an eyebrow._

"_Course not," Beckett smiled slightly. "I had to tell my lil bro first, didn't I?"_

* * *

Beckett Butler left soon after that. He drowned his sorrows for a while in a most un-Butler-ish manner, but it was forgivable given the circumstances. Well, not in Madame Ko's eyes, but she wasn't there in the pub to lash him for it.

He then got a new job guarding a charge he couldn't care less about and, to cut a long story short, was not expected to amount to very much by his new boss, which lead to him becoming more of a drinking partner and chunk of hired muscle to get the lower-end celebrity out of bar-fights and owing money to people he played poker with on an almost nightly basis.

In the end, after a particularly nasty fight that had left one man with a broken jaw and Beckett with a glassed face, he decided enough was enough. That night, the glass was picked out of his face by a young nurse named Theresa Brady. It was to become an unusual answer to the question; 'So, how did you two meet?'

Beckett quit his job and, after a time, moved in with Theresa into a tiny flat above a greengrocers living what could only be described as an ordinary life for a while delivering groceries by day for the landlord and bouncing doors in some of the rougher clubs of Dublin by night.

But it wasn't to last.

At least, experience had taught him that having someone to care about who wasn't trained in the ways of staying alive under almost any circumstance, never ended well. And, to be honest, he was bored. This was not what he was born to do. So, with a heavy heart and a letter to his father and brother still at Fowl Manor with no returning address, he signed up to the army.

* * *

_**IRELAND – THE PAST**_

"'_Resa I have to go now," Beckett murmured into her hair, hugging her so tightly that it hurt. But she didn't say anything. She felt as though her world was splitting in two._

"_You don't. You could stay here with me instead and sod this stupid soldier idea!"_

"_No I can't. People I stay with get hurt, Theresa."_

"_Well I don't care!"_

"_Well I do. __I care far too much about you for that to happen.'_

_They stared at each other, green eyes flashing angrily and dark blue ones glaring sternly back. Both of them were far too stubborn for a relationship without arguments._

"_Come on, soldier. Enough canoodling," yelled a senior officer from further down the station platform._

_Beckett sighed, dropping his gaze first. A rare occurrence. He pressed his forehead against hers gently._

"_I love you," he whispered, and kissed her gently one more time before hefting his bag easily onto his shoulder and walking away without looking back._

_Theresa could only watch as the love of her life boarded with the rest of the soldiers and the train rattled away into the distance._

* * *

Little is known about Beckett Butler's time in the army, but slightly more is documented about the life of Theresa Brady.

Two weeks after she had stood, silently sobbing on an empty railway platform, she found out she was pregnant with what could only be Beckett Butler's child. She tried to contact him, only to find that, whether deliberately or accidentally, he had given her the wrong contact details. Unperturbed, she began research everything she knew about him, including the tattoo on his arm which he had always refused to talk about. Which lead her, after several months of searching, to a woman called 'Madame Ko'.

Actually, it was so many months of searching later, that the baby was born in a hut in Israel, birthed by the sensei herself. The baby was a healthy boy with his father's eyes and his mother's fiery temper, by the sounds of his yelling.

Madame Ko had forced Theresa stay for a few weeks after the baby was born, getting her strength up and learning a fair few skills in case she should ever need them in the future. When the day came for them to return to Ireland, Madame Ko gave her two things. One, was an ultimatum that in just less than 10 years time, the baby of Butler descent would be enrolled in Madame Ko's Bodyguarding Academy and the other was an envelope that she must open once she got home.

* * *

**_LETTER EXCERPT_**

_Dearest Girl of Ireland,_

_It occurred to me that your young son will grow up without male influence. I myself commend your decision to raise him by yourself and know of the strength that only a woman, a mother, can hold._

_However, I thought that you would appreciate my telling you of your son's closest relatives._

_His grandfather is the bodyguard of the head of the Fowl family, whom I'm sure you will easily find information about on your return to Ireland._

_His uncle, his father's brother, guards the Fowl heir._

_I hope that you will find this information useful._

_Do not forget your promise. I look forward to training your son._

_M. Ko_

* * *

Theresa read the letter on the flight over and immediately looked up the Fowl family once she got home. To cut to the chase and avoid the weeks of searching for the correct residence and a short and slightly embarrassing case of mistaken identity, she found her son's uncle and grandfather.

Myles immediately told her he didn't want to be like a father to the child, but if she ever needed help, he'd be there. And so he was. Throughout his life, the young boy was raised almost entirely by his mother. But, occasionally, he would visit or be visited by a man he came to know as 'Uncle'. And he would be subject to the same sly training, disguised as games, as every Butler child went through.

At the age of ten, Beckett's son was readily accepted at Madame Ko's Bodyguarding Academy. And of course, after that, the Fowl's only Butler at the time played a much larger part in raising his nephew, particularly in the 6 months the boy was away from training at the Academy. But that is another story, the story of Domovoi Butler. And, as has been said before, this is The Major's.

If you must know, Beckett Butler finally tracked down and returned to his Theresa after being uncontactable for nearly nineteen years - and legally declared dead for at least five of those. And, when finally he re-found down the love of his life and she had finished hitting him for leaving, she told him that the youngest graduate of Madame Ko's Academy, infamous on the Blue-Diamond grapevine, carried his genes and he met his already full-grown son for the first time. He also visited his brother, who was equally unimpressed with his disappearing act. Only his punches hurt a lot more.

Beckett took up a job guarding the heads of several Irish political leaders rather than leave again. Theresa still worried about him, but at least she was there to patch up any injuries when he came home most evenings.

When the inevitable marriage of Artemis Fowl occurred, Domovoi was top of the list to guard the heir to the Fowl Empire, if ever, or more likely _whenever_, the child was born. Beckett Butler could not have been prouder if he tried. A few years later, once he and the mother of his only child were married, they had another baby, a girl this time, and Beckett retired from bodyguarding to become a full time father in their new life in America.

About four years after that, two things happened. The first, Artemis Fowl the Second was born and Domovoi was employed by the Fowls to protect him, working closely with his uncle, his father's twin, who had been more of a father figure than his biological father his whole life. Secretly, Domovoi put becoming the youngest ever graduate of Madame Ko's on his eighteenth birthday partly down to this vigorous extra training.

But unfortunately, the happiness wasn't to last, once again.

After visiting Domovoi to congratulate him and the new Fowl parents, Beckett and Theresa decided to buy a travel yacht in Ireland. This was not on a whim. Butlers never did anything without at least _some_ careful consideration. Despite wanting them to have a family home, Theresa was of traveller heritage and the need to explore the world still burned strong inside her. As for her husband, without a set charge, he felt no pull to stay anywhere other than by his wife and daughter's side. Besides, he thought that it would be nice to revisit some of the countries he had been to before – only this time without the threat of receiving a bullet between the ears if he lost concentration. Their daughter, Juliet, had been left with a close family friend for a while in America, a fact that her older brother had been more than a little disappointed about. He knew that his parents planned to sail the boat back across the ocean to get used to it, pick up their daughter, and then sail around the world and that he likely wouldn't see Juliet again until she was five or even six years old.

However, one week into their journey home, Beckett Butler and his wife Theresa disappeared.

They are still missing today.

A sailing accident is blamed for them never reaching the coast of America, but the truth is still unknown. No wreck was ever found and the boat's tracking system malfunctioned several times before their communication system failed and the word was sent to look out for the couple.

Three weeks later, Juliet was flown over to live with her brother and uncle as her only other family. And of course, how she grew up is documented as well as any other area of any other Butler's life - i.e. _not very. _But it is known that she was raised by the two Fowl bodyguards and began her training from the moment she set foot into the manor.

It wasn't the life her parent's might have wished for her, but it was better than being shunted to and from care-homes and orphanages. She also grew up with the best protection anyone could wish for and a much more interesting life than any ordinary child.

But when Artemis Fowl the Second was just ten years old and Juliet Butler was fourteen, another event occurred that rocked the lives of the Butlers and Fowls once again.

The sinking of The Fowl Star.

This is the story left undocumented by the _Artemis Fowl _Series.

This is the story of the so-called-_afterlife_ of Myles 'The Major' Fowl.

* * *

**See what I did there? Huh, huh, didja, didja?**

**This is how it goes on in my head. The whole Butler-family-history rattling about in there and this is kinda the first time it's appeared anywhere else, so it'd be good to see if people like it or would rather go with their own thing.**

**Well I've posted this, even though I said I'd probably wait a week. I had a pish day. This seemed like a good remedy.**

**Hope the time jump things weren't too confusing.**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Wolfy  
ooo  
O**

**17-05-12**


	3. Bad Day in the Bay

**Thanks to: _Sandd, animato22, 2whitie, Steinbock, Shadow_ _Huntress_ and_ Fowl Star 57 _for the brilliant reviews and to: _Alchemechanist, NobodySombodyAnybody_ and_ PromptDreamer-PSAscience_ for the alerts and faves.**

**So. The beginning of the bit Colfer never wrote. Enjoy.**

**WARNINGS: Some swearing from our favourite Butlers.**

**FONTS: From now on speech in _'bolditalics' _is spoken in Russian where English is the main language spoken in the chapter. I'm sure you'll catch on and if not, well it doesn't make much of a difference unless you find it irritating, in which case I apologise but it's a bit more important later when... well you'll see.**

**Onwards!**

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE**

_**Bad Day in the Bay**_

**THE **_**FOWL STAR**_**, BAY OF KOLA, NORTHERN RUSSIA, FOUR YEARS AGO – THE PAST**

The Major, was _not_ happy.

There were many reasons he was not happy.

The rising cost of fuel, for example. The state of the environment was one of his concerns. The increasingly difficult-to-bypass security at airports was a great irritation.

But the main one this particular morning, as it often was, was his charge.

And predominantly the fact that Artemis Fowl Senior had decided that something called for the need to hire an extra security man for their latest voyage.

When The Major had suggested they take extra security to Russia in case of trouble with the Mafia, he had been_ suggesting_ bringing along his nephew. Not this… The Major mentally called his new _'partner'_ something obscene and checked he was ready to disembark. They would be docking soon. And he couldn't find his watch. This was more annoying than you would think, as it was not only a present from his niece and nephew several Christmases ago now, but was also a tracker which his nephew would be using to follow their progress throughout the journey. He had a suspicious feeling it hadn't simply gone _'missing'_. He muttered under his breath as he finished packing and calmed himself by checking that all of his more _dubious_ equipment was in full working order. It was, of course. It was his. He finished packing and, leaving his case to be collected by a porter, The Major squeezed himself into the narrow corridor.

In the next room, he could hear Artemis doing the same as he had been doing. He better help him before he did himself an injury trying to lift his case out of the wardrobe. The empty case, that was.

He knocked on the door, "Ready to leave, sir?"

"Ah, there you are Major. I was beginning to think you'd never ask," Artemis called through the door. "I rather fancy getting a breath of the sea air before we dock."

The Major rolled his eyes at the metal. Even without his watch he could tell that he hadn't been any longer greeting his charge a good morning than he usually would be. And the stupid excuse for a Blue-Diamond probably wasn't even awake yet.

"Come in, if you like, Major."

"Perhaps not, sir," The Major said with a wry smile. The rooms were barely big enough for him to stand in by himself, let alone join his charge.

Artemis exited his room, actually looking quite happy – which for him at least meant that he wasn't wearing his usual stern expression. He was in a good mood. This deal was going to bring in a lot of money. A lot of _legal _money at that. And best of all, his wife was happier with him than she had been in years. Once he returned from Russia they had a holiday planned.

(This was another of The Major's niggling issues. The words 'Holiday' and 'Fowl' rarely co-existed peacefully. In fact, his master had even managed to turn a Father's Day boat trip, fishing in the Irish Sea into a news-worthy incident. Since then, Artemis Junior had had a distinct distain for anything remotely fish related - except caviar, of course.)

"Is Azarof not around yet?" Mr. Fowl asked, looking around for the blond Russian.

The Major supressed a scowl of annoyance.

"I haven't seen him this morning, sir," he said briskly.

"Ah well, no matter," Artemis said brightly. "Just me and you, eh?"

His rare smile was not returned with as much gusto and he faltered.

"Listen, Major. I know you weren't best pleased with my hiring him, but I rather felt you deserved a break. And he _is _a Blue-Diamond, after all. I thought you would approve…"

"All due respect, sir," The Major interrupted carefully. "And thank-you for the sentiment, but I prefer to work alone."

"I see. No matter, he will not be returning to the manor with us anyway," Artemis told him, zipping his jacket up to his chin over his expensive suit.

"Good," The Major muttered under his breath as he checked the deck was clear of threats before allowing Artemis to follow him. His charge chuckled slightly at his quiet response – an intense show of emotion for Artemis Fowl the First.

_What has gotten into you?_ The Major thought.

"Lighten up, Major," Artemis smirked, a hint of his stronger Irish-accent shining through. "Don't be such a cantankerous old man."

Even The Major cracked a smile at that. It was usually _him _that was encouraging _Artemis_ to be more light-hearted. They made their way into the fresh air and onto the starboard deck, sunlight shining off the waves and into their eyes. Artemis squinted and sighed. The Major squinted and breathed deeply too, although at the handicap it created on his sharp vision rather than to take in the beauty of the snow-covered surroundings.

"Ah, Mr. Fowl," came a voice, smooth as silken sheets.

Any last traces of The Major's smile vanished to be replaced by his customary 'serious-face'.

"Azarof," Fowl acknowledged his hired bodyguard neutrally.

The man had only had his Blue Diamond for a year yet he was nearly thirty – something that had both amused The Major and worried him. It had taken the man eleven years longer than it had taken his nephew to pass. Perhaps Madam Ko had simply got sick of him and booted him out, leaving the man to get himself a fake diamond. It wasn't as though The Major had had chance to check for the identity microchip planted in the centre of each real, approved blue-diamond tattoo.

"Are you well this morning, sir?" the younger bodyguard asked.

_Brown-noser,_ The Major thought grumpily.

"Quite, thank-you," Fowl answered, raising an eyebrow.

It had not escaped his notice that The Major didn't trust the man at all. Although he didn't know the reasons behind it. _He_ didn'tknow that, in his bodyguard's opinion, Azarof looked with far too much interest at his employers possessions, and that on the first night of their voyage he had caught him smoking less-than-ordinary tobacco with the crew. He'd probably been drinking too. But when The Major had reprimanded him for it, Azarof had simply snorted and asked how he'd survived comfortably if he never allowed himself time off the job. The Major had replied that his principal's survival was paramount to his own comfort. Azarof had snorted at him again and The Major had made a comment about how his disregard for his principal's safety was probably the reason his training had taken a decade longer than it should have done. That had ended with Azarof attempting to punch The Major in the face, which had ended in the _younger_ man's face being pressed against a wall, his arm held at breaking point up his back until he stopped struggling. Neither of them had revealed this incident to their joint employer, but it was one of the underlying reasons they didn't get on. And one of the underlying reasons the crew treated The Major with an unusual amount of respect.

Azarof continued to speak to Artemis, but The Major wasn't listening. He was leant on the railing staring across the bay. Something was wrong. Something was about to happen. His soldier's sixth sense was drumming faster than his heartbeat.

"You spaced out, over there old man?" Azarof laughed, placing a hand on his employer's shoulder. His sleeve shifted and Artemis caught sight of a watch on his wrist that seemed too big. He recognised it. He had seen one just like it adorning the wrist of his main bodyguard for several years now. It had even played a part in assuring him he would be rescued when he had been hospitalised during what he referred to as _'The Carker Incident'_, his wife referred to as _'The Exploding Restaurant Kidnapping Incident' _and The Major referred to as _'The Time That Bloody Woman Drove My Car'_.

Perhaps the watch was something given to those who graduated from Madame Ko's Academy.

The Major ignored Azarof's taunts, instead scanning the bank for whatever it was that was making him uneasy as they glided inland in the Bay of Kola.

The cloud cleared and the sunlight blazed over the snowy landscape. Then, as his pupils adjusted fully to the glare, a glint of metal caught his attention.

His trained eyes focussed on the source instantly.

_Shit._

"Artemis," he said warningly, backing away from the railing and standing beside his charge.

"Chill out," Azarof sighed, taking his place at the railings. "We're not in a danger zone for any conventional weapon. We're on the right side of the boat to be out of range of snipers and it's not like our cargo is anything to be violent about. Relax yourself, else you'll never have the energy to burn in a real emergency."

Of course, you should never say something like that.

Something made a noise similar to as if someone had shaken up one of the 250,000 cans of cola on-board and opened it carelessly. A long, whooshing fizz getting louder and louder until even Azarof realised what was happening. The rocket sailed, trailing a tail of white smoke behind it in the pale blue sky. It was coming towards them, but the boat was moving and the shooter obviously hadn't taken into account the speed of the ship accurately enough. But that didn't mean it wasn't going to hit them.

For a second everyone just stared, gripped with the helpless thought that _there was nothing they could do_ to stop the inevitable collision of missile and ship.

Then training took over. Or at least it did for one Blue Diamond.

"_Get down!"_ The Major roared, grabbing Artemis by the back of the thick, extreme-temperature jacket and swinging him onto the floor, covering him with his entire body. For a whole second the only sound was their breathing icing the cold deck and for a fraction of that second Artemis thought that his bodyguard might have overreacted after all, and the rocket had been a welcoming firework. Albeit a very _large_ welcoming firework, released in broad daylight.

And then the rocket drove itself into the stern of the boat.

* * *

**FOWL MANOR, DUBLIN, IRELAND, FOUR YEARS AGO – THE PAST**

Nothing betrayed the bodyguard's emotions as he drove his charge back to the manor.

No shake of the hands, no change in his impeccable driving. Nothing.

But inside his mind was in turmoil.

Barely an hour earlier he had received a phonecall from one of his various contacts.

"_**Butler?"**_ a voice had asked, almost tentatively, if who Butler recognised as the owner of the voice could ever be accused of such a thing.

"_**Speaking,"**_ he replied in Russian. He passed a maid, cleaning in the corridor, on the way to the kitchen and she looked at him fearfully. Obviously she didn't recognise the language and would probably use the encounter to further fuel the rumour going round some of the younger members of the staff that the Butlers were actually genetically modified soldiers from another continent with their own secret language which they used to communicate solely with eachother.

He ignored her.

"_**It's me - Cole,"**_ the Russian man on the other end of the line seemed to sigh with relief. _**"Christ it's good to hear your voice. I thought you'd be dead, mate."**_

"_**Why? I **__**can**__** survive without you watching my flank, you know,"**_ Butler let a small smile leak onto his face at the sound of the well-known voice. He'd guarded a European Diplomat with Cole before Artemis's birth. An assassination attempt had left them both injured and grateful for having someone else there to get their charge through the ordeal safely.

"_**Guess you weren't on it..."**_ Cole seemed to mutter to himself.

"_**Hit me with the news, Cole. This isn't a social call I take it."**_

"_**No. You're still guarding that Irlandskii family – the Fowls, right? With your uncle?"**_

"_**Da?"**_ Butler frowned now. _Where is this going?_

"_**You need to turn on the news, mate. I'm... I don't know what to say...I'm sorry mate."**_

"_**Spit it out, Cole,"**_ Butler said firmly, and if he had been face-to-face, Cole would have been forced to comply. As it was he sighed into the phone before speaking again.

"_**Just... turn on the news. And ring me if you get anything good back. The Major's a good bloke."**_

And with that he hung up, leaving Butler to drop the phone onto the breakfast bar in annoyance and switch on the kitchen television to see... well. To see something that would change everything.

As soon as he had seen the news report roll through its entirety once, he had gone to inform the lady of the house, with still no idea what to say to break the terrible news, when he had heard the anguished scream that told him either that someone else had got there before him, or she was watching the same programme. He had sprinted to the living room, just in case, and found Angeline standing, entirely unharmed - physically - in the middle of the main sitting room, her favourite china teacup in smithereens on the carpet and the television playing out helicopter -filmed footage from the horrible scene.

"Butler... tell me it's not true..." she whispered helplessly. Her eyes were enormous, entire body shaking like a leaf. "Tell me it's fake... it's wrong..."

But he couldn't lie. There was no point for starters. The TV screen would immediately force the truth upon them with the overhead view of the last of the ablaze _Fowl Star_ sinking into the depths of the Arctic Ocean.

But before he could say anything at all, her eyes rolled back in her head and she fell forwards. He leapt across the room and caught her by the shoulders before she hit the floor, laying her carefully on the sofa in the recovery position.

The scream had brought a maid, rather tardily, running and she looked in nervously from the doorway.

"Oh my Lord what's..."

"She's fainted. There's been an attack on the_ Fowl Star_. Please take care of Madame Fowl, I will collect Master Artemis from school."

Butler was surprised the orders rolled so easily off his tongue when really, he had no proper idea of what he should do. He was running on auto-pilot whilst the majority of his brain was firing off unwanted consequences of the explosion. If it was even_ slightly_ possible, his uncle would have saved Mr. Fowl and himself and he, Butler, would be receiving an extremely shivery and pissed-off phonecall from Russia shortly, demanding he get a jet up there to pick them up _ASA-F'in-P_.

The young woman obeyed him anyway, darting into the room and taking to fanning Mrs. Fowl with a cushion. Which was fairly useless really but, since it also did no harm, Butler couldn't be bothered correcting her.

Checking his Sig Sauer was where it practically _lived_ in his shoulder holster, Butler made his way to the garage quickly, pulling out his phone as he did. He should ring ahead to the school. Or rather to his young master. The school staff in general did not very much like him. Neither did a considerable few of the students' own personal staff. There had been an issue with one of the boys deciding it would be a good idea to pick on Artemis. Once Butler had convinced him that it wasn't, the lad had set his own bodyguard on him. It hadn't ended well for the man _without_ a Blue Diamond on his shoulder and he had gained both Fowl and Butler a reputation they both wanted and deserved.

He should tell Artemis he was on his way. But perhaps not yet. Artemis would be in lesson. He wouldn't yet have heard the news. He was supposed to protect the young heir. But how to maintain that and simultaneously tell his charge that his father's ship had been sunk and that he was likely dead, did not appear in any form of the bodyguard handbook.

"Butler!" a voice called and he turned on the spot, still walking backwards towards the garage.

"Yes, Harvey?"

"You've seen the news?" the junior security man said, jogging after him, his usual smile absent from his face.

"Yes," Butler answered bluntly.

"And...?" the man asked tentatively.

"Be prepared for any attempt to breach the manor walls. And I don't just mean assailants. As soon as the press get their act together they'll be banging on the gates. Under _no _circumstances are you to let them in, understood?"

"Yessir," Harvey rattled. "Do you want me to collect Juliet from school?"

Butler shook his head. "No. I need someone to man the fort while I'm out getting Artemis. Call Harson. Tell him he's needed back here."

"But..."

The head of security was currently on his annual leave and the man did not take kindly to being bossed about by men younger than him at the best of times. He barely listened to The Major, preferring to take care of security his own way. Butler didn't like him very much, but he needed as many men as possible guarding the manor until this latest catastrophe had settled down and, hopefully, resolved.

"I know he'll not be happy, but see what you can do."

"OK, no problem."

"I'll be back as soon as I can," Butler told him, then added; "If she gets back before me, please tell Juliet where I've gone."

Butler planned to bring Artemis back and then deal with Juliet. If she heard the news at school, she'd likely walk right out of class and run the ten-or-so miles home. If not, he'd find a window to collect her or just wait for her to come home on the school-bus at her usual time.

"Yessir," Harvey repeated.

"Answer any calls, take messages, say 'no comment' to any questions."

"Yessir."

"Don't let anyone through the gates unless it's me."

"Yessir."

"And Harvey?"

"Yessir?"

"Stop sir-ing me, Harvey. It does my bloody head in."

"Yes... Butler."

But he was already gone, striding towards the garage. At the door, he opened the safe the various keys to the numerous vehicles the Fowls had on-site were kept in and grabbed the most well-worn set. His chest clenched for a second along with his fist.

"_...when you finally do get rid of me for good, you can have her."_

"_Then I don't want it until it's a flippin' rust bucket that won't move..."_

Butler's body worked automatically, opening the garage door remotely, starting the engine, pulling off smoothly, reaching the gate before he even realised he had gotten into the Bentley at all. That shouldn't have happened. He needed to be alert. He had learnt that the hard way as a teenager on one of his stays with his uncle.

"_Never 'zone out'! Do not let yourself become complacent in a routine, boy. By all means practice something until it is automatic but never let yourself fall into a pattern. Why?"_

"_Because patterns make you predictable."_

"_And?"_

"_Predictability makes you a target, uncle."_

"_And?"_

"_Being a target means your charge is under threat."_

"_And that means you could have to put your life at risk to protect them and if you are dead, your charge is…"_

"_Also dead, sir."_

"_That's more like it. Now do that again and let me see the sparks in your eyes whilst you do it. Keep your…"_

…_mind on the job, _he finished mentally, shaking his head as he began to take in his surroundings properly.

Deciding that he couldn't be bothered to go through the rigmarole of signing into the school, waiting for some idiotic receptionist to go notify his charge of his arrival and then the whole signing back _out _process, he unhooked the carphone, ringing the third number on the list. After a few rings it was answered, a clear voice speaking over the hubbub of a classroom.

"Yes?"

"Artemis, there's been an incident," he started. "I will be collecting you from the front gates in fifteen minutes."

A short silence. "What does it concern?"

"I can't tell you over the phone, sir..."

"_Tell me_, Butler," the boy snapped. "That's an order."

In the background an adult's voice shouted, "That better not be a mobile telephone, Master Fowl."

"It concerns The Fowl Star, sir," Butler said reluctantly.

A short, sharp gasp on the other end of the line and then the teacher said something else and cut the call.

Butler floored the accelerator.

He pulled up to the gate, but before he could ring again, the front doors of St. Bartelby's flew open and his charge walked quickly down the steps and along the narrow driveway. Butler watched him, hating the openness of the landscape-gardener-designed grounds.

_Any sniper worth his salt..._his bodyguard side muttered. He himself had already noted at least eight points from which he could get a clear shot at anybody from the front of the school to the main gates and still get away before the grounds could be closed off - and he wasn't even considering it seriously.

_Shut up, he's just a boy. He hasn't done anything to warrant being shot at,_ his rational side snapped.

_Who says there needs to be a reason?_ said his more dominant, suspicious nature.

Butler shook the mental conversation off as his charge entered the car. Under normal circumstances he would have had, or at least _offered_ to have, _words_ with the teacher who cut the phonecall, but now was not the time.

"Tell me everything you know," Artemis said, tight-lipped.

And so Butler did so, relaying everything he'd heard on the news.

Artemis had fallen silent as soon as he had finished and not spoken for the rest of the journey.

It worried Butler more than if the boy had immediately begun to shout or cry. He could see the ten-year-old thinking, calculating timings, chances of survival. Just as he had already done. His phone hadn't rung yet. Time was trickling away, but he would refuse to believe that someone had finally managed to take down his uncle until he had solid proof.

No paparazzi had reached the gates for now, thankfully, and once he had pulled up to the front steps, Butler shepherded Artemis inside quickly and checked his watch. There was time to go get Juliet if he could trust the manor's security to survive without him. It was a very 'Major-ish' thing to think and for a moment it brought a flicker of hope to his mind. His uncle wouldn't go down easily. And whoever had made the shot on the _Fowl Star_ had messed up. He knew himself that the best place to hit the ship with a Stinger had been _much_ further to the bow of the ship than the shooter had made _their_ shot.

Of course, the explosion would still have been huge, but the boat had sunk slowly.

Plenty of time to escape.

Plenty of time for a Blue Diamond bodyguard to save his charge and himself.

Or at least that's what he kept telling himself.

* * *

**So, the next chapters will also be spilt like this - some from Russia and some from Ireland, but all in the same time - ie. FOUR YEARS AGO - THE PAST**

**This is a long chapter and I kinda wanted to split it so the chapters were more even overall throughout the story, but I think this was the best split as it was.**

**Thanks for reading so far,**

**Wolfy**

**ooo  
**** O**


	4. Going Downhill

**I promise to try to get round to thanking you all personally, but just in case I don't get time, here's the list:**

**Thanks to:_ Fowl Star 57, Steinbock, 2whitie, Shadow Huntress _and _HolidayBoredom _for the great reviews. I'm glad you guys like it! And double thanks to _FowlStar57_ and _Steinbock_ for fave/alerting.**

**Onwards!**

* * *

**CHAPTER 4**

**_Going Downhill_**

**THE **_**FOWL STAR**_**, BAY OF KOLA, NORTHERN RUSSIA, FOUR YEARS AGO – THE PAST**

'_Explosion'_ wasn't the word.

Artemis felt as though the roaring would never end. His ears popped, the pain repeating as the explosion triggered its own aftershocks. The world lurched as the back of the giant boat spun slowly clockwise with a tremendous groaning of metal tearing free from metal.

The Major didn't waste time lying there. There'd probably be a back-up rocket to finish them off and they were on entirely the wrong side to be throwing themselves into the water without making themselves cannon-fodder for any snipers.

Working without fully- functional hearing since his earplugs were still below deck in his bag – a fact he cursed himself for – he hauled Artemis to his feet without explanation, heading for the small, open-topped passageway which would take them to the port side of the boat. The problem? The quickest route was towards the flames that had ignited with the explosion and had begun circling swiftly around the back of the control tower in the centre of the ship. They'd have to move now - before the fire that had taken hold of the wooden crates blocked their escape. Crew members ran around panic-stricken. Some even threw themselves off the railings into the icy waters below. They'd never survive if they didn't make it to shore quickly. And even if they did, likely it would be to be met with a bullet on the shore by a mafia _khuligany._

"_**What the hell was that?"**_ Azarof yelled in Russian.

_Unfortunately still alive, _The Major thought, but he didn't bother answering him. If Azarof hadn't already guessed what had happened, the man was too stupid to live anyway.

There were yet more explosions as the Coke cans burst in their hundreds with the heat, smoke roiling around them and burning at their lungs and Artemis found himself on the verge of laughing hysterically. All this because he had brought fizzy drinks into the country. He wondered if something had been lost in translation and the Russians had thought he was bringing cocaine onto their shores. And then why they would bomb the boat even if he had.

"Come on, we need to get port-side," The Major said calmly into Artemis's ear. The man was shaking slightly but he was far more used to explosions than his bodyguard would have liked and so he didn't fall apart at the first suggestion of a death-defying situation.

It wasn't going to turn out to be so much _'death-defying'_ as it was just plain _'death'_, if they didn't hurry up.

They began to run towards the fire, Artemis not even questioning his bodyguard's actions, simply trusting him to get him out safely, just as he always had done.

Azarof staggered after them, possibly injured from the original blast, but The Major was neither paid nor inclined to protect him too and so he carried on without him.

"Listen," The Major shouted over the noise as he powered Artemis forward, one hand on his charge's belt, the other between his shoulder-blades. "If something happens, you need to keep going. If you can't get into a lifeboat, get overboard and onto some debris. Get out of the water as soon as possible and get yourself to shore. Lay low. This is the Mafia's dealings, Artemis. I don't think I need to say more."

Artemis hadn't enough breath to protest or answer and so, feet slipping on the metal deck, they sprinted onwards, skidding to make the turn when it came. The Major dug the toes of his Academy-issue boots into the purchase-less surface of the iced deck and somehow found grip. The open-air corridor linking the port and starboard decks was coming up fast and door they had come through that morning slid by in a blur of grey metal as the pair made the ninety degree angle without breaking pace. Behind them Azarof messed it up entirely and crashed to the floor, skidding forwards on his front, the angle of the boat making him slide after them uncontrollably.

They'd almost made it to the port deck when the fire made it to the fuel store.

But of course, _'almost'_ was never enough.

A second explosion like an earthquake shook the ship and everyone on it off their feet. The Major's momentum took him further forwards than Artemis and he let go of his principal instinctively, lest he risk dragging him over the edge of the deck. He slid past him towards the railings as the boat rolled in the waves and they span across the lurching floor like hockey-pucks on an ice-rink. With a rending screech of defeat, the control tower came loose and began to rock ominously.

The Major hit the railings painfully fast, his hands gripping onto the nearest bar instinctively. Immediately he cast about to catch Artemis, but his charge was still in the centre of the ship, dangerously close to the teetering control tower, clinging onto something with all the strength in his thin arms.

If they got out of this, The Major swore he was going to put the man on a training regime.

The boat had leant considerably and The Major pushed off the railings, scrabbling up the almost 45 degree incline to cover his charge before the metal cylinder fell and crushed them both.

Another explosion ripped a chunk out of the starboard side as the fire began to take hold below deck. Water rushed in to fill the gap and the boat suddenly began to list towards its injured side, sky and sea melding together in a messy horizon as the floor bucked beneath them like a breaking ice-floe.

For perhaps a second the boat levelled entirely and The Major, still heading directly for his charge took full advantage. Unfortunately, his body was still in 'uphill' mode and his feet didn't catch up quickly enough as the deck suddenly became very much 'downhill'. He hit the floor heavily once again, the air being driven from his lungs as he lunged for something to stop himself from sliding forwards. Artemis slid backwards towards the starboard side, coming to rest against a maintenance ladder, his gloved hands frantically trying to grip the icy metal rungs.

A huge chunk of a container sailed through the air, smashing down terrifyingly close to him.

Several expletives of various languages ran through the bodyguard's head as he heaved himself off deck, feet slipping frantically as he tried to make his way across the treacherous metal.

"Artemis!" The Major bellowed.

_Look up. Shit. Please look up. Shite, Artemis. Just look up. Come on, look up. Look up._

_Stop it. Stop acting like a first year,_ The Major scolded himself mentally, quelling the panic in his stomach.

"Artemis? Can you hear me?"

His charge was face down, but finally, after an _excruciatingly_ long time, his head lifted at the sound of his bodyguard's voice.

"Yes," Artemis croaked. "Yes, I can."

"Good. Now get up if you can."

The fleeting moment of relief The Major felt wasn't to last. The sky was raining down great chunks of debris and Artemis was dangerously in their landing range.

"Artemis, get _up!_"

Artemis's eyes were huge. The Major hadn't seen him this scared since… well, since _ever_. They had never been this close to not making it out alive. Heat and cold battled and the air was rent with crackling, hissing and booming as the boat wallowed lower in the icy water.

"_Get up!"_ The Major roared again, still fighting to do this same.

The scared look didn't leave his eyes, but the man bit his lip and got firstly to his knees, then his feet, determinedly. But, just as he took a step closer to his bodyguard, he fell inexplicably. And heavily.

Artemis screamed in agony as he went down twistedly, leg going under him at a nauseating angle. Had it not been for the roaring of the fire and explosions they surely would have heard a sharp, splintering _'snap'_ of bone.

The Major somehow found purchase on the sleek metal and hauled himself towards him in an army crawl. How the_ hell_ had Artemis managed to fall so badly? The boat had been relatively steady compared to what it had been doing moments before.

And then he saw it. A large hand gripped around the man's leg.

Someone had grabbed hold of Artemis's ankle.

_Azarof _ had grabbed hold of his ankle.

From the other side of the huge block of metal that had missed Artemis by a mere metre, a strong arm snaked through a gap, almost entirely blocked by a head and torso. The Major lurched to his feet and staggered towards the pair, reaching for his gun.

"Get the _hell_ off my charge!" The Major snarled, his eyes blazing as he towered over the men on the floor.

"Not unless you take me too!" Azarof yelled. "I come or we both stay."

The Major was considering his options, which included various ways of decapitating his opponent when sounds like gunshot rent the air and the some of the final bolts in the supporting structure holding the tower upright sheared off, unable to cope with the rapid transition from freezing to boiling. It would be moments now before it began to topple towards them.

_Sod that,_ though The Major, or words to that effect, grabbing hold of Artemis's arms.

For a second they were caught in some sort of deranged tug-of-war, Artemis screaming in at every wrench until The Major came to his senses and planted his boot on Azarof's face. Unfortunately, it would appear that the man at least shared some of his Blue Diamond training and the grip on Artemis's ankle clamped tighter still.

He felt no remorse as he stamped down heavily on the man's wrist with every intention of irreparably breaking every bone within the area of his large boot. Not even when it smashed his watch.

_His_ watch, that was.

_The thieving little ba…_

Azarof's wrist relaxed involuntarily and the pair fell backwards away from him, sliding until they were stopped by the friction-paint messily slopped on the port-deck.

"Major…" gasped Artemis, staring at his leg in horror. His foot was bent involuntary and the pain was unbearable. He had never broken a bone before and never wanted to again if this was what it felt like. "Christ! My leg… it's…it's…"

"It's alright, Artemis. Come on, I've got you," The Major kept his voice level and calm as he helped his charge to his good leg.

Artemis collapsed almost immediately; his face was paler than the Arctic snow.

_Shock, _The Major thoughtas he lifted his charge bodily and began to run. He was grateful that the bone that was almost certainly protruding through his charge's skin had not pierced his trousers. Although he himself had seen hundreds of compound fractures, he had a feeling that Artemis wouldn't react well to a viewing of a piece of his own skeleton.

Their options were limited. And although _h_e didn't really want to be plunging them into the ocean with a one legged charge in tow, The Major didn't really have a choice. Gone was the chance of attempting to launch a lifeboat, it would be impossible now with the boat leaning as it was, even if there were any that had survived the fire so far.

Their last hope was to reach the railings before the boat listed too far over for them to make it to the edge.

But it was too late.

As if in slow motion, like a giant axe falling towards them, the control tower toppled at last.

* * *

**FOWL MANOR, DUBLIN, IRELAND, FOUR YEARS AGO – THE PAST**

Artemis seemed numb. Not even reacting to being practically pushed up the stairs and through the front door.

"Where is my mother?" he whispered, speaking for the first time since hearing the news.

"I don't know Master Fowl, she was in the living room last I saw of her. She's taken ill with the news."

"I... I should talk to her..." Artemis mumbled.

"If you wish, Artemis," Butler said, half-wanting to order his charge _not_ to just yet. He didn't know how Mrs. Fowl was going to react to her son.

"Does... does Juliet know?" Artemis said after a moment - surprising them both.

"No. I don't think so."

"Then I... I give you full permission to go and collect her from her school. Otherwise she will be another two hours, am I right? And by then I expect you would like to have secured the boundaries from... reporters and the likes."

"Yes, sir," Butler wasn't surprised by _this_. His budding-genius of a charge usually thought of everything. "I'll go collect her as soon as I'm sure you're alright."

There was a short silence.

"Artemis?"

"I'm... dealing with this, Butler," his charge said, running a hand through his hair. "I'll go see to Mother. Please collect Juliet."

Butler knew his charge wanted to be left alone and so, nodding to a nervous-looking Harvey on the way out, he leapt down the steps from the front doors and back into the Bentley.

He made the journey in half the time it would have taken him legally and pulled into the much smaller car-park of Juliet's high-school. He pulled out his mobile and speedialled, tapping his fingers irritatedly on the steering-wheel at the sound of the dialling tone.

Fortunately, Juliet answered on the second ring - obviously in a boring lesson.

"Hello?"

"Jules, it's me."

"Jeeze, I thought you were one of those call centres. Why'd you always private your number, bro? It's really annoying. I'd like to know when I should bother risking detention to answer my pho..."

Butler decided not to remind his sister that the reason she got calls from call centres at all was because she kept subscribing to things, much to her elder's displeasure.

"I'm out front," he interrupted her before she could get into a full-on Juliet-rant. "Get out as soon as you can."

"Bro, what's going on?" Juliet immediately became serious.

"Juliet Butler! Are you on the… How dare you! No mobile phones to be used in class! How dare you answer a call in my lesson! Give that to me immediately!"

"Sorry sir, but I have to take this. Family emergency."

"I couldn't care less if it was a _national _emergency, young lady! Hang up _immediately!_"

"With respect sir, go screw yourself," Juliet said firmly, standing and making her way to the door. The rest of the class was stunned into silence.

Butler couldn't hold back a roll of his eyes at his sister's response. Her temper often got the better of her, hence her school reports.

_Juliet often lacks proper decorum when addressing teachers and should show more respect for her elders than she currently does…_

"How _dare_ you..." the teacher said again, obviously a fan of the phrase.

On the other end of the phone there was a crash, the sound of running footsteps, a door slamming and then Juliet spoke again.

"I'll be in reception. 30 seconds tops. You better come bail me out - I just threw a chair at Mr. Roberts."

Butler cut the call with a sigh and got out of the Bentley, locking it and straightening his tie before rolling his shoulders. Big brother time.

He made his way up the stairs to the main reception of the school. A receptionist looked up, and kept on looking up, as he ducked through the doorway.

"I'm here for my sister," he said bluntly.

"And she would be who, exactly?" the woman asked, unable to believe that the giant had a sibling of school age. Still, she was fairly sure she was safe behind the shield of shatterproof glass. _Fairly._

"Juliet Butler. She's in..." he began, but before he could finish his sentence and name the form who had been lumbered with his little sister as a member, she herself burst through a set of double doors, pursued by no-less than four caretakers and a teacher. Albeit at a distance - she was a fast runner.

"Bro!" she leapt, almost sliding into him. He caught her elbow and steered her behind him expertly, lowering his centre of gravity more as a precaution than anything whilst three of the men burst through the door.

They skidded to a stop, their faces similar to those of a trio of hunters who had been chasing a small bear cub through the woods and suddenly come across its angry mother.

"That'll be enough chasing after my sister for today, gentlemen," Butler said sternly, eyeing each of them. Even with the broom one of them was brandishing, they barely registered on his _'threat scale'_.

"I'm sorry sir but she assaulted a teacher..."

"No I never - I just threw a chair in his fa… um general direction!" Juliet protested in outrage. "Honestly bro those chairs weigh nothing compared to my weights. You know if I had _meant _to hit him then…"

Butler recalled the incident earlier that week when Juliet had lost her temper and he had barely caught the 17kg dumbell she had thrown at his chest. The extra training he had given her as punishment had managed to disguise the fact that he had been genuinely impressed by the half-hearted lob.

"I believe you, Jules. Now be quiet whilst I get us out of this," Butler muttered. It was amusing really. The last time he had said that, they were probably in some sort of life-threatening situation. And now? Well, it didn't take long for him to sign her out properly and for them to be on their way back to the manor. Juliet was a little miffed at that, she had been half-hoping her brother would do a little assaulting of his own.

"So what's gone down that's so important I had to smash a chair?" Juliet asked, grinning.

Then she noticed that he wasn't smiling. Quite the opposite in fact. She had been barely five when she had last seen that expression on his face. It had been when she came to live with her brother and uncle. Her only proved-still-to-be-alive relatives.

"Dom?" she asked as a shiver passed down her spine. An inherited instinct she would learn to trust. "Dom, what's going on?"

Butler strongly believed in not treating his sister like a little kid, but sometimes, he had to remember that she actually was.

"There's been an attack on the _Fowl Star,_" he told her simply. "Big explosion, the boat went down."

Juliet was silent. "Have you heard from him yet?"

Butler just shook his head.

There was no need to ask who she meant. Even without it being obvious, her hand had snuck to the chain around her neck, fingertips touching the pendant - not a real diamond - but a piece of metal shaped into an exact copy of her male family's tattoos with the engraving_ 'Someday'_ in tiny writing on the back.

"Oh. Right," she mumbled, slouching lower in her seat.

The rest of the journey passed in silence.

* * *

When they reached the boundary of the manor Butler could see he had been right to warn the less-experienced security man about the journalists. He didn't slow as he approached the gates, realising that to get in themselves, the gates would have to be opened. Unfortunately that would be long enough for the paparazzi to follow them in.

It was a shame they hadn't managed to convince Artemis Senior about that electrified cattle-grid…

He still floored it down the driveway anyway, keeping the gates-open time to a minimum. He scowled into the rear-view mirror at the people running down the gravelled driveway. He would have to deal with that _issue_ shortly.

He cast his eyes down and looked at the pale face of his little sister. He dare not give her any indication that he feared the news reports were worse than they already thought, so he reverted to professionalism as they reached the main doors, both stepping lithely from the car, instantly alert to any danger.

The door at the top of the stairs was opened for them by Harvey and through it they could see Artemis coming down the stairs quickly. He didn't seem to have been crying, but Butler could already tell his talk with his mother had not gone well.

"Juliet, please get Artemis and yourself a hot drink," he said, then added quietly. "Keep eachother company, he's going to need it."

_And you are too,_ he added mentally, but kept it that way. Juliet would be stronger the less emotional he seemed to be with her.

The pair met at the bottom of the stairs, Juliet taking hold of her friend's hand as they walked towards the kitchen. Unusually, Artemis didn't pull away and both of them disappeared out of sight, as pale and shaky as ghosts.

Harvey was suddenly by his side, indicating their visitors. "Should I ask them to leave?"

"No. I'll do it, thanks, Harvey," Butler said, calmly un-holstering his Sig Sauer and checking the clip.

"With all due respect, we could do without the police getting involved too."

"Don't worry, I don't plan on adding to my body-count today," Butler told him. "Scared is better than dead."

He pulled a baseball cap from his pocket and secured it on his head, shade his features. A lot, if not all, of those journalists would have cameras on him the second he opened the door. His 'gangster hat', Juliet called it, would stop them getting a good picture for the paper. It wasn't 'gangster' he had argued, it was merely a black surveillance cap. Still, granted, the persona he put on when he wore it was perhaps even more threatening than his usual professional manner of intimidation.

"That it is," Harvey agreed eagerly.

"Well, usually, anyway," Butler added ominously as he replaced the gun carefully.

And so Harvey watched as last blue-diamond at Fowl Manor opened the door smartly and stepped outside, face like thunder.

Immediately the journalists began questioning him, cameras flashing away.

"_What is your relationship to the Fowls?"_

"_How have the family reacted to the attack?"_

"_What is your take on...?"_

"_Why do you think...?"_

"_Have you heard…?"_

"_Do you know…?"_

"The Fowl family would appreciate privacy at this difficult time," he spoke loudly over the newspaper representatives. "No comment."

"_What does..." _

"_Who is..."_

"_How..."_

"_Where do..."_

"_When will..."_

"_Why..."_

Everyone was talking at once. A cacophony of questions. Butler was tempted to shoot one of them in the hope that the sound of a gun going off would shut them all up.

"I said _no comment_," Butler's deep bass cut through the babble. "And you at the back. You so much as _touch_ that car again and I am serious when I say you will regret it."

The man who had been attempting to climb onto the Bentley's bonnet for a better view got down very quickly.

"You are trespassing," Butler stated. "Remove yourself from the property before I am so inclined to do my job and remove you forcibly."

The arrangement of journalists seemed to chuckle disbelievingly. One made as though to step onto the bottom step and started to speak.

"Could you tell me..."

Butler leapt from the top step, landing so close to the woman that she stumbled backwards in her high heels and fell over onto the gravel. The others felt as though the ground had tremored at the impact of the giant landing and began to back away cautiously.

"No. I will not be answering any questions. Nor will anyone else on the premise. If you continue to harass The Fowl family, or anyone else I am hired or inclined to protect, you will find yourself on the receiving end of my mood. And I assure you, that is _not_ something you want to happen."

The man at the back took a hasty step backwards as Butler glared at him, his camera bag ever-so-slightly bumping the Bentley's polished side.

The Major had polished the entire vehicle before he left.

He had left it in Butler's charge.

His nephew was not about to brush over that fact.

In a single fluid movement, he drew his gun and fired a shot at the ground. A spray of gravel hit the man in the shin, but not a single shard hit the car's flank. The journalist yelped, thinking it was the bullet.

"You shot me!"

"I shot_ at_ you," Butler corrected. "If I had meant to hit you, you would be dead by now."

"But…" the man started indignantly - obviously a complete imbecile. "But..."

"I warned you. Now the rest of you," Butler slid the gun in a scale across the faces of the crowd like an accusing finger. "Move. _Now._"

The effect was instantaneous. The crowd began to back off, some not daring to turn their backs. Almost as though he was a predator and they were the prey. An accurate analogy, to be fair.

Harvey, watching from the security monitor inside, smirked at the thoroughly expected scene unfolding on the TV screen and pressed the button to release the trapped men and women doing their best not to look too panicked at the sight of the large shadow following them.

Butler followed them at a swift walk, right to the edge of the manor grounds and closed the gates behind them, ensuring that they locked securely behind them.

Then, with a deep breath, he turned on the spot and with sinking spirits, began the long walk back to the manor with absolutely no idea what to say to his little sister, or the boy he, however wrongly in Madam Ko's eyes, viewed as his little brother.

* * *

**This is a bit of a rushed edit so if you spotted any mistakes, I apologise.**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Wolfy**

**ooo  
****O**

**24-05-12**


	5. Ice Cold

**Thanks to: _Sandd, 2whitie, Steinbock, Shadow Huntress_ and _HolidayBoredom_ for the reviews. Hope the rest of you are still enjoying it too.**

**WARNINGS: Swearing. I am quite sure you've seen it all before but if you want to squint so you don't have to read it, The Major says the worst one early on.**

**Onwards!**

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE**

**_Ice Cold_**

**THE **_**FOWL STAR**_**, BAY OF KOLA, NORTHERN RUSSIA, FOUR YEARS AGO – THE PAST**

The boat gave a world-tilting lurch, slamming them to the floor again, accompanied by an ear-popping explosion that sent flaming debris raining down on them. Despite his best efforts, the bodyguard couldn't stop everything. The searing hot metal hissed on contact with their skin and set their clothes alight with cinders. Artemis cried out in pain and The Major hauled himself over his charge and taking the brunt of the fragments, thankful of his bulletproof vest. Around them, heavy chunks of metal plummeted into the deck, creating craters in the metal, or else landed in the sea, sending up geysers of water. What had once been deadly cold became unbearably hot as the blaze from the explosions drew closer, setting their clothes on fire, the flames licking at the exposed skin of their faces and necks.

The Major clenched his jaws together the way he set it when he intended that nothing would stop him achieving what he wanted and hauled them forward on their bellies, dragging Artemis alongside him. After a second or two he got to his hands and knees, keeping Artemis below him and crawling to relative safety, dragging his charge by the arms and barely pausing when the metal hit them and forced him to the ground multiple times, almost crushing his principal.

Behind them, Azarof was screaming for help and dragging his way desperately out of the mangled mess of metal. It didn't look as though he was going to make it, but The Major found that he didn't much care if he stayed trapped and burned to death.

All he cared about was getting Artemis out.

"My leg… Christ… Major my leg!"

It was all Artemis seemed to say, repeating himself over and over.

The Major dared to look and saw that the leg was definitely broken. A leg couldn't be at that angle and _not_ be broken. He felt a fresh surge of fury flow through him. It was Artemis's first broken bone. Not even when his charge had taken to climbing trees for a few weeks at age seven, had The Major missed catching him when he fell.

"I'm sorry, Artemis," The Major said heartfully. "I should have shot the fucker earlier."

"Not your… fault. I'm sorry I … hired… him," Artemis panted a laugh at the use of the language as his faithful bodyguard hauled the pair of them another inch towards safety. The old soldier usually censored his dialect around those of upper class.

Azarof was still screaming, but his voice wasn't alone. There were others, all stuck with the choice of fire or ice. Either would almost certainly end in death.

"We're not going to get out of this one, are we?" Artemis said, barely audible under the noise. But his bodyguard still heard an air of defeat in his tone.

The Major took a breath of the strange air, caught between smoke and sea-spray, calculating distances to the railings, probabilities of them being able to vault it, possibilities of survival before he spoke.

"I'm going to get us out of here," he said seriously. "I promise you that Artemis."

Artemis nodded slowly. He believed him. Never before had his bodyguard made a promise he hadn't kept.

There was a momentary lull in the frequency of flying debris and The Major made the most of it.

"Right, let's get going."

If they hadn't have moved then, they probably wouldn't have made it. As it was, The Major got to his feet, lowering his centre of gravity and lifting Artemis in front of him to protect him from the fire. Then, as carefully as he could under the circumstances, he carried his charge to the railings.

"Hold yourself up on that," he told him, wrapping his principals gloved hands around the top bar and scouting around for something that would float.

There was a life-buoy attached to the wall, but as The Major went to sprint towards it, something gave with the sound of flexing metal, deep and ominous, and the boat settled lower in the water, slowly sinking into the depths. Artemis slipped on his one good leg, letting go in shock and sliding towards the stern end of the boat. The Major leapt after him, one hand sliding down the rusted railing, soaked with melted ice.

"Oh no you don't," he growled, locking his free hand around Artemis's arm in a Roman handshake.

Artemis flailed in panic but latched onto his bodyguard's sleeve. "Not after everything else we've been through, eh?"

"Exactly," The Major agreed, hauling him back to the relative safety of the railing. The life-buoy was gone, overtaken by the fire that was closing in on them. He considered his options. His own injuries consisted of nothing but flesh wounds and a few burns, but with Artemis's broken leg, swimming to shore unaided would be nigh-on impossible.

"So what's the plan?" Artemis asked, as though they were simply standing in his office at home discussing security for his next business meeting.

"We going to have to jump," The Major warned him as the boat groaned and shuddered under its own crippled weight. "Hit the water and then figure out how we're getting to shore."

"O…OK," Artemis shivered, but out of pain or cold, The Major couldn't tell. He was rubbing his face furiously, particularly around his eye, but The Major didn't have time to ask him to list his injuries just yet. Testing the edge of the boat for stability, he climbed over the railing and helped Artemis with him.

He scanned the churning water below. There must be_ something_ floating. Even if it wasn't enough for both of them, it could be enough for Artemis alone.

Meanwhile Artemis was considering the difference between the false air of security the flimsy pieces of metal had provided when they had been separating them from the drop compared to the rails being behind them as they were now as they stood, exposed to the elements, perching precariously above the churning black ocean below.

"Right," The Major said clearly. He knew he would have to jump and drag Artemis with him, or at least he doubted the man would make the leap on his own. "On my count. Three…"

But as he spoke, the ancillary fuel store caught alight, the resulting explosion taking away the chance for a countdown. The Major propelled them forward, debris following them like bees from a hive as they fell. Something smashed into the side of The Major's head, knocking him dizzy. Black spots appeared in his vision as he fought to keep them entering the water feet first. Despite Artemis's injury, it would be better than landing on their heads from the height of the enormous, crippled ship. He locked his own legs around Artemis's to lessen the impact on the smaller man and tried to get a full breath in before the inevitable submersion into the freezing sea, fighting to stay conscious as the world darkened into nothingness around him.

They hit the water hard and the cold shocked him awake even before he could fall fully unconscious. They plunged into the darkness, deeper and deeper, the light above flickering and fading. The second he could, The Major started fighting for the surface, pulling with one armed strokes and kicking powerfully as he hauled Artemis upwards. They surfaced together, both heaving huge gulps of the freezing air, so cold it seared their lungs. The water felt good on their burns, but with wreckage still falling from the ship, there wasn't time to be treading water.

The Major began searching for something to cling onto. _Anything. _There was enough falling into the sea, just none of it was floating.

He could tell Artemis was conscious by the way he was groaning, but since he wasn't saying anything coherent, his bodyguard lay him on his back, as he had been taught during the lifeguarding lessons at Madame Ko's, and started to kick them out of range of boat. Blood smarmed across his vision and the world kept zooming in and out of focus, which something at the back of his head was informing him was _not_ a good thing. On the shoreline he couldn't see any tell-tale darkly dressed figures, but they could be hidden in the scrubs higher up on the hills. Then again his vision wasn't so reliable just then; one of the weird black dots swarming his line of sight could be more than just a hallucination.

Next to him, Artemis stopped murmuring. He was on the brink of passing out and The Major wasn't sure he'd wake up again if that happened.

"Stay with me Artemis," he grunted, splashing his own face with water to stop the head injury claiming _his_ consciousness too.

It was surprisingly peaceful, floating in the freezing cold water.

_No, that's what it wants you to think,_ his inner-Madame Ko snapped. _It will lull you to your death if you let it!_

"Major…" Artemis muttered unexpectedly. "Would you… tell me something?"

"Certainly," his bodyguard replied, grateful that at least the smaller man was talking.

"What is… what is your… name?" Artemis coughed, sea water harsh on his throat.

"Not yet, sir," The Major bared his teeth in a grim smile. "Don't give up on us yet."

"Not yet," Artemis repeated numbly.

But after a few more minutes in the freezing water, even The Major was starting to lose hope. There had been no rescue boats yet. That alone meant it must be the Mafia. There was a good chance they weren't going to get out of this after all. Then again, the current wasn't dragging them out to sea. So eventually, they should make the shore. It would just be what gave first – the sea's icy grip on them, or the steadily waning strength in his limbs keeping them afloat.

And then he saw it.

Bobbing in the waves, excruciatingly close, yet far enough away to look impossible to reach. A pallet. The cans had been loaded onto them at Dublin. And one floated, appearing and disappearing with the rise and fall of waves.

He could follow it at a distance, but he knew his strength was depleted. He hadn't been this tired since the Academy. And, as much as he hated to admit it, he wasn't as young as he used to be.

_No matter,_ he thought to himself. _Doesn't seem like I'll be getting much older._

And then…

_Hilarious, Myles. What an excellent time to start exercising your sense of humour._

He was probably becoming delirious. Yes. That was the excuse for the sudden similarity to his nephew's nature_._

_Domovoi... Juliet..._

The thought of his family brought a new surge of energy to The Major and, with a last few ragged pulls of his free arm and stubborn kicks of his legs, he hauled Artemis onto the wooden pallet. Somehow, it had survived the explosion. Similar to how they themselves had - singed, battered, but still more or less in one piece.

The Major rolled his charge into the centre of the board where he lay on his back, limply, like a half-drowned animal and grabbed onto the float himself, resting his forehead on his arms and trying to even out his breathing.

_Two through the nose, one out the mouth, replenish your oxygen levels, but stop before you hyperventilate._

Artemis was doing no such breathing exercises and gasped at the temperature of the air on his body. His clothes were ripped in places and the wind on his bare skin felt no better than the water. He hadn't the heart to tell The Major that he thought he was going blind on top of everything else. He couldn't see out of one eye, his leg felt oddly detached, but at least the icy temperatures were numbing the pain. If he closed his eyes for more than a few seconds, he knew it would take a lot for him to open them again.

_I'm sorry, Angeline,_ he thought. _I'm sorry Arty._

Meanwhile, The Major was thinking:_ Safe. Or at least safer than he was a minute ago._

But the palate was waterlogged. Sinking. He needed to lose some ballast – i.e. _him_. But he didn't want to leave Artemis on his own without warning.

"Artemis? I'm going to… to let go and… and swim behind you," The Major stumbled over his words, trying to keep the chatter from his voice. Madame Ko had trained them for everything, but she tried to stop short of actually killing her subjects. Artic training had been harsh, but at least the morning jog and dips had finished with a gruelling work-out to warm the blood in their bodies once more. His charge didn't respond so he shook him gently and the man cracked opened his glazed eyes a little further. "Artemis?"

"Yes, Major?" Artemis murmured. "What is it?"

"When you get to shore, don't tell them your name. When you've recovered, get yourself home."

No response again.

"Artemis, listen to me. What did I just say?"

Artemis frowned, concentrating. "Shore. No names. Home…No names… Major? Just in case… would you?"

The Major knew he wasn't asking for a gun or a knife to defend himself with. There was a good chance neither of them would remember this moment anyway, but it was almost like admitting defeat. Something no Butler ever did. But if this _was_ to be the end, he wanted his charge, his reason for being for the past three and half decades and more, to know. And apparently it would make Artemis feel better to hear him say it. And that was not something The Major was going to withhold in this situation.

He took a breath, steeling his bloodied features proudly.

"My name, is Myles Domovoi Butler, twin brother of Beckett Julius Butler, son of Alexandr Urs Butler, bodyguard of Artemis Angelo Fowl the First and it has been an honour to be in your service, sir."

There was the kind of silence that follows most life-changing events before then Artemis spoke again quietly.

"Myles…" he mumbled, testing the word out and smiling as he closed his eyes again. "Myles… you've done a good... a good job. Thank-you, my friend."

If that was Artemis's opinion then he was entitled to it. And, if he was honest, perhaps even Madame Ko would have to admit that, given the circumstances, he had done all he could to protect his charge. Other than anticipate and prevent the stolen Stinger missile being launched in the first place, of course. Then again, Madame Ko was under the impression that she trained superheroes, which is what would have been required for this to go any other way than it had.

"Anytime, Artemis. Anytime," Myles smiled back and pushed the pallet towards shore as hard as he could, laying back in the water and letting it carry him as he moved his legs slowly in an effort to keep himself moving in the same direction as his charge.

For the first time in his life he felt utterly helpless.

It wasn't a nice feeling, but at the same time, there was the relief that he had done his job. He had done all he could here. The rest was down to fate, or the gods, or Mother Nature or whatever controlled what happened next to him and his charge. All he could do, was float along and wait for it.

For whatever happened, when it did, he would be ready. He was a Butler, after all.

* * *

**FOWL MANOR, DUBLIN, IRELAND, FOUR YEARS AGO – THE PAST**

The first few hours after events like this were always the worst. Butler knew that from a sad amount of experience in the matter.

The sinking of the Fowl Star had hit the headlines hard, but nowhere near as hard as it had hit the families_ behind_ the story. Hierarchy forgotten, the two Fowls and two Butlers had sat around the television for the rest of the evening waiting for news of a survivor. A rescue attempt. Anything to relight a small flicker of hope.

But the hours passed in a blur of reporters and complicated words.

_Assassination. Mafia. No comment. No survivors. No warning._

_**No.**_

The word darkened Artemis's world. This couldn't happen.

But yet it had.

Too shocked even to cry, he had mumbled his excuses and retreated to his room after the subdued dinner.

His Father, his ruler, was gone.

So perhaps Artemis Senior had not been a _perfect_ role model, not the perfect father-figure either, but he _had_ still been his Father. The realisation hit him. He was now the man of the household.

The responsibility of heading the family, running the house, leading the family business, all piled upon his slender shoulders.

_Look after your mother, but don't let her squander the family fortune!_

Those had been the last words Artemis Fowl Senior had spoken to his son. Not _'Good-Bye'_ or _'I'll miss you'_, _'Be good'_ or any other way of conveying love. _'Family fortune'_. The words were clearly not spoken in order of priority, at least in his father's view.

Not that it mattered so much. There wasn't much of either left to look after now, anyway.

Tears fell freely as he sat on his bed, flopping forwards onto the soft duvet the maid had changed that morning and sobbed, his ribs heaving with the pain, the helpless sense of loss trapped somewhere between his lungs.

_Why?_

Artemis couldn't pretend his Father was a perfect man, but this had been his first_ legal_ venture in years. The irony hurt. It all hurt.

And so the part of Artemis that was the genius, stepped in to protect the part that was the child.

Quite suddenly, he sat up and sniffed, wiping his face furiously with a sleeve and changing into his pyjamas. He hadn't been tucked in to bed for years now, but suddenly felt the need to cry out for someone to hug him goodnight and turn out the light for him. He quashed the idea, scowling at himself and viciously flicking the light-switch himself before climbing under the covers.

It was time to grow up.

* * *

Everyone reacts differently to grief.

The second the news was verified Butler became the solid rock everyone needed but no-one wanted to be. He checked the details over and over, eyes never leaving the news program, now showing on most of the manor's TVs, as he went into a separate room and rang through the appropriate numbers. _'Appropriate'_ being the authorities, the rescue teams and anyone he knew that might be in the area, or might even have been involved in the attack itself. Although he doubted the latter. Everyone knew the Butlers guarded the Fowls. And if you knew the Butlers, you knew not to mess with a Fowl.

Angeline broke down, sobbing hysterically with every passing hour and every change the news broadcasted until finally she simply sat, tear-stained cheeks shining, blank eyes staring into the distance. Butler had a maid take her upstairs to bed once she had descended into that. No need for Artemis to see his mother in any more of a state than he already had. He hadn't yet had a chance to speak to either of the children, but suspected Artemis wouldn't want to talk about his conversation with his mother anyway.

The news churned on, emotionless voices reporting the latest.

_No survivors have yet been found…however a number bodies have been recovered from the shoreline…_

It was the same as what Butler was hearing from his own sources.

_We haven't found anyone. Call back later. We're sorry._

'Sorry' didn't cover it.

It was only after Butler had phoned everyone he could think of and doubled the security on the manor, including spoken with Harson, the normally contrary head of manor security, who either realised that now was not the time to be arguing, or had shut up at the look in Butler's eyes, that he allowed himself to climb the stairs slowly. He stopped outside Artemis's room, knocking very softly. There was no answer, but he hadn't expected one. It was past midnight, after all.

He entered silently and crossed the room to check the bundle of covers was still breathing. He untucked the top of them gently, revealing the pale face of Artemis Fowl Junior. The boy's features scrunched at the cold air touching his face.

"F… father?" he murmured.

Butler swallowed. "No, Artemis. It's me, Butler."

But the boy didn't answer, instead slipping back into a deeper sleep and Butler left as quietly as he had come in. Often there was a fine line between bodyguarding and brothering and he would wait until the morning to see which of the two Artemis required most.

He bypassed his own room and listened at the next door. There was a line of light seeping under the door and he leant his head against the wood for a few seconds before knocking quietly.

"Jules? Can I come in?"

"G' 'way," came the muffled answer.

Taking this expected response as an invitation, he entered anyway, stooping slightly under the doorway. She was huddled in the corner of her bed, pressed into the corners of the wall. Security. Nothing could attack her without her seeing it. He had seen her do the same after a nightmare. The whole thing was a nightmare. Only that this time, it wasn't a dream.

He joined her, his weight leaning her involuntarily towards him.

"Why, Dom?" she sniffed after a few seconds, giving in and pressing her face against his shoulder to hide her tears. She saw them as a weakness, he knew. She had never seen him or their uncle cry and they were her synonym for strength. "Why?"

"These things happen, Jules…" he started gently, not even bothering to reprimand her on the use of his first name.

"No they don't!" she said defiantly. "No-one else's bloody uncle gets blown-up on some bloody boat."

"Juliet…"

"No! Why do bodyguards just give their lives up for some posh person who doesn't even give a flying shit about them?"

"We don't, Jules," Butler sighed, deciding to let the swearing slide too, under the circumstances.

"Yes you do! What's the point of 'Protect the Principle'? To make sure the Fowls don't die. What were you doing before you came to me? Dealing with the Fowls' problems. Why is Uncle dead? All because of the stupid Fowls and their stupid money."

"He might not be..."

"Oh come on, Dom. You know he is too. If Mister Fowl is gone then so is Uncle. He wouldn't let his precious charge get hurt without dying first."

"Maybe. But Mister Fowl wasn't just a boss. You know that," Butler told her. "Uncle's been with him since he was born. Same as me and Little Artemis."

"And would _you _die for _him?_" she asked, scooting away from his bulk angrily. "_Because_ of him?"

"Yes." her brother answered simply and she turned her tearstained face away. "It's what I've been trained for my entire life. To protect my principle at all costs. And yes, yes I would die for the Fowls. But not… not if me putting myself in danger for them would put _you_ in danger yourself."

She turned back, shocked.

"At least, not if there was any other way," her brother said, hugging her. "Because I know my lil sis can look after herself, right?"

Juliet sniffed finally and nodded into his chest.

"Family still comes first," he said quietly. "Even if it doesn't feel like it sometimes."

The answer seemed to comfort her somewhat and she didn't speak again.

"Besides, don't give up hope yet," he whispered, and she nestled into the solid, comforting warmth she had associated with safety her whole life. "He's a stubborn old bastard, that uncle of ours."

She snuffled a weak approximation of a laugh then lapsed into the semi-silence of deep breathing.

Butler stayed until she was fully asleep, then gently tucked her covers round her and left her lava lamp on. The label on the wire informed his that it was safe to leave on for up to eight hours at a time and Juliet would be up before then. She was a true Butler. She never slept longer than she needed.

He was the only one left awake in the manor. He hadn't yet ordered a nightwatch, although he considered the fact that maybe he should have. Except that that could leave the security weakened by fatigue and with all the sensors placed around the manor, any intruder would instantly be picked up and the whole team alerted, asleep or not.

_Speaking of fatigue,_ he thought to himself glumly.

All Butlers were supposed to be able to force themselves to sleep quickly, in case there was little opportunity for resting time and every second was precious.

But tonight he couldn't.

Padding back downstairs he pushed open one of a set of double-doors and flicked the lights to the gym on, its familiar smell of hard-work welcoming him. He switched on the TV fixed to the wall in the vague hope that the news would be good.

It inevitably wasn't, so he crossed over the sprung wooden floor silently to his own equipment and sat on a bench, staring at his uncle's.

"_Don't let your guard down whilst I'm gone. Just because we're going legal this time doesn't mean the family isn't a target,"_ The Major had told him seriously, as they sparred last week before he and Mr. Fowl had left the Dublin port for Russia on the _Fowl Star_.

"_Yes Uncle,"_ he had replied, hiding his exasperation in a block and following it up with a spear to the stomach – equally as blocked by The Major of course.

As if he didn't know what his uncle was telling him already. But it was The Major's way of showing his dominance, giving instructions. He was the alpha no matter how many times his nephew beat him in their training. And Butler thought it gave his uncle some comfort to tell him what to do. Just to make sure that he wouldn't forget.

Now he had to make his own decisions completely. Not that he didn't anyway, but the constant reminders of his training that had kept him alert for so long would be gone.

No. He wouldn't believe the proud figure of his uncle wouldn't be returning until he had proof. Solid proof. And that would be either in the form of a phonecall from the man himself, or the identifying of a body for the authorities.

A seasoned body-identifier, he shook away phantom images of what that experience would probably be like and stood, trudging over to one of the hanging punch-bags.

For a while the only sounds that came were the solid _thwaks _of skin on material and in the background, the 24hour news channel playing over and over again.

That was the first day.

* * *

**So that one was a bit chunkier in the Arctic section I think to make up for the fact you'll have already read most of the last bit if you saw the preview I posted in Lil Rems.**

**Hope you're still enjoying it. Can't believe I'm 5 chapters in and I'm still sorta setting up for the actual story itself haha :) I tend to waffle on with the back stories. I apologise. I'll get to it eventually. Meanwhile, nobody panic too much, that wasn't the last we'll see of The Major - honest. I don't break promises either.**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Wolfy**

**ooo  
**** O**

**28-05-12**


	6. Rude Awakenings

**Thanks to: _2whitie, AriLivesnotDylan, Fowl Star 57, Steinbock _for the reviews. Your support so far keeps the updates happening... well just plain _happening_ really!**

**WARNING: Mahussive chapter coming up.**

* * *

**CHAPTER SIX**

**_Rude Awakenings_**

**FOWL MANOR, DUBLIN, IRELAND, FOUR YEARS AGO – THE PAST**

_Domovoi was swimming. Although 'swimming' suggested leisurely exercise in lukewarm water. This 'swimming' was entirely different._

_He knew that he had to reach the sixty kilogram sack, already __sinking steadily into the icy water, __before the timer went off. Had to bring it to the surface before it was too late._

_**Training.**_

_Sixty kilograms wasn't even a full grown man's weight._

_He knew he could do it. He had done it countless times before._

_He took a breath and dived confidently. He had been a strong swimmer for as long as he could remember. He wasn't even in full gear as Ko would have them swim in. This should be easy._

_But suddenly the water was even colder than the lake usually was. He couldn't see the sack. He was going to fail. An inexplicable panic overcame him, suffocating him more than the water surrounding him and he forced himself deeper until his frantically sweeping hands clamped round the material. _

_**Got it.**_

_He hauled upwards instantly, but something was wrong. The sack was heavier than usual. It felt like it had been tied to the bottom of the lake. But he had seen it go in – hadn't he? Seen it sinking. Was it a trick? Was this the wrong sack? He opened his eyes fully, trying to see through the darkness of the deep water._

_He pulled up harder, fighting to reach the surface, but suddenly he seemed weak. He stared at his arms. They seemed thin and small, distorted by the water. But as he pulled one hand to his face he realised that they __**were **__small. Powerless. Innocent. The hands of a child. These were not __**his **__hands, the hands of a trained and practiced killer. But they __**were **__his hands. No doubt about it. __**His **__hands, attached to __**his **__arms, attached to __**his**__ de-aged body._

_His head snapped round to look at his shoulder and a mop of dark hair wafted over his face in the water._

_His arm was __**bare**__._

_And not just clothing-wise._

_No proud blue shape stood out in the strange half-light of the water… _

_Domovoi forced himself to focus. It didn't matter for now. Tattoo or no tattoo, he still had a job to do. He had always had had a good power to weight ratio, even as a kid. And he still had to get this sack to the surface before the timer went._

_He hauled again, lungs burning. The sack rolled in his grasp and he realised that it wasn't a sack at all._

_It was a man._

_He almost inhaled in shock, but controlled his lungs, pulling the being closer to try to recognise the face._

_He did so instantly._

_It was his uncle._

_And this time he had to let out a breath before his chest imploded with the pressure._

_His lungs let out a silent stream of bubbles._

_He stared, horrified, into the blank eyes of his uncle._

_The lifeless eyes glared up at him accusingly._

_**Don't fail me, Domovoi**__, they seemed to say. **Don't fail me, boy.**_

_And then the timer went._

* * *

And then the timer went.

And kept on going.

A sharp, alarming, shrill sound that cut through any last vestiges of the troubled slumber he had somehow managed to fall into.

Butler jolted upright and immediately fell off the bench with a thud.

A loud, heavy one - despite the sprung floor - and not something a bodyguard of his standard would ever be proud of.

He sprung up into a crouch instantly, defensive snarl on his face and breathing as deeply as if he had been drowning for real.

Once he had determined that he was alone and the threat had been entirely imaginary, he slammed a hand down of the sparring timer he had never really realised sounded so much like the one for plunge training at the academy and stood up was not surprised to find that his gun has leapt into his hand at some point.

His dark eyes flickered round the room, taking in every detail. It was empty. The only voices he heard were those of news reporters. The TV was still on.

News messages scrolled across the bottom of the screen.

_**...LATEST UPDATE…Irish trading ship sunk off coast of Murmansk…21 dead…13 injured…6 missing… So far the family of Artemis Fowl head of Fowl Corporations and the owner of the ship, have refused to comment…**_

Butler checked his watch. Probably a good job it went off, really - even if it had been entirely unexpected. It was 6:53am. A lie-in. After his impromptu work-out and approximately three hours sleep, that was.

He picked up the timer and rolled it in his palm. It was battered and worn. When he thought about it, it probably _was_ the exact same one his uncle had used to train him with starting at nine years old, just before he was old enough for the academy.

He checked his phone for messages. None. Still, with thirteen people found alive, he had work to do. A flicker of hope burned in his chest. Only two of the 13 had to be them. A 13 in 40 chance of them being alive. And then there was still the missing men to check. Although he knew he'd be clutching at straws if they were amongst the six yet to be found.

Stretching out the kinks in his muscles from sleeping on the gym bench, Butler walked across the gym and switched off the TV as he left the room. Harvey saw him leave, but if he was surprised about the rumpled shirt and loose tie, he didn't mention it.

"Morning," he nodded, running through the night's security tapes in case any intrepid interviewers had attempted to climb the boundary walls under cover of darkness.

Butler grunted in response, scrubbing his face with one hand.

"Rough night?" Harvey asked, trying to lighten the mood.

Butler looked at him with an intensity somewhere between a glare and an eyebrow raise and Harvey continued hurriedly.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to..." he said quickly, but Butler waved him off.

"No, something like that anyway," he muttered.

"Have you heard anything?" Harvey asked tactfully.

Butler shook his head. "Nope. Nothing. But with thirteen survivors there's a chance Mister Fowl and The Major are among them."

Harry seemed to shift awkwardly.

"What?" Butler asked and this time he really did fix him with a glare that told Harvey quite firmly to spill all - _immediately_.

"We got a call last night. A summons for body ID-ing."

"Expected," Butler said, rubbing his face again tiredly. "What did you tell them?"

"Just to get back to us when they had the bodies sorted and we'd send someone over."

Butler ground his teeth. Really_ he_ should be the one going. Not only did he not entirely trust any of the other staff not to get squeamish or not look close enough to identify a damaged body, he was The Major's next of kin and if he was suspected to be amongst the dead, then they'd then send for Butler anyway.

But to go to Murmansk would mean leaving the Fowls - and his sister – alone for at least a day. Perhaps even longer if...

He noticed Harvey looking at him questioningly.

"If you need to stay, I could go do the ID. I've done it before."

Butler raised an eyebrow. Harvey was widely regarded at the youngest and least experience of the team.

"Car crashes, mostly," the younger man explained. "When I was in the police."

"It would be useful," Butler admitted. "I'll let you know."

"Alright. Anything else I can do?"

"Keep an eye on the gates and don't let anyone in. If we give a statement it could get rid of them or bring more running for a chunk of the news, so stick with no comment if you have to answer anyone for now."

"No problem. Anything else I can do?"

"No thanks, Harvey."

"No problem," Harvey repeated then paused as though unsure whether to add his next comment. "You look knackered, mate. You should probably go catch a few hours."

"_Huh,_" Butler grunted, turning his back and slinging his jacket over his shoulder. "Plenty of time to sleep when I'm dead."

And so Harvey was left at the bottom of the stairs shaking his head as he watched the younger Butler traipse up the flight. He admired the Blue Diamonds - who didn't? - but sometimes he thought that being a bodyguard must be the hardest job in the world.

* * *

When Artemis awoke, for a moment he couldn't understand why his face seemed to crackle and his eyes were puffy and sore.

_Dried tears_, he remembered._  
_

He rubbed his eyes and sat up. It was nine o'clock. He'd slept in.

And then the events of yesterday hit him and he flopped back down on the bed, the impossibility of the situation almost crushing him.

For a few seconds all he did was breathe deeply, composing his emotions before forcing himself to get up. He went into his en-suit bathroom and washed the tear-stains from his cheeks. Next he dressed and turned on his laptop, opening the curtains before finally sitting down at his desk in front of the machine. He opened up an internet window and stared at the search engine's home screen for a few seconds, steeling himself to type. He hadn't yet heard of any more news this morning. Although that did not mean that no news was good news. In the next few seconds, either he would know that his father was dead, or that he had been found alive. And if not, he would have ask if Butler had heard anything. Artemis felt a small lump of guilt settle in his stomach at the thought of his bodyguard. Now that he came to think about it, no-one had much mentioned the fact that The Major too, was involved in the tragedy and possibly dead. Artemis may have a missing father, but from the small snippets of the Butlers secretive family relationships he had seen, he could garner that The Major was very much a father figure to both Butler and Juliet.

But his _own_ father was Artemis's first priority. He could ask of The Major later.

With shaking fingers he typed into the search-box.

**Fowl Star Survivors**

The screen flicked up a list of results in what Artemis was told was 0.44 seconds. He clicked on the top news website and scrolled through the details.

_The Fowl Star, owned by Irish tycoon Artemis Fowl, was struck yesterday morning by what has been described as a land-based missile, possibly a rocket-launcher-style device. The projectile impacted with the cargo bay of the ship, causing a massive explosion. The boat then listed to port-side and subsequently sunk. However, the boat took over an hour to go down completely and rescue officials were originally hopeful of finding survivors. So far there have been 13 victims found alive, all hospitalised and said to be in serious but stable conditions. After 24 hours, hopes have faded for the figure of those found alive to rise. The body count has reached 21 so far and the search for the remaining 6 of the missing victims continues. The boat's owner, Mr. Fowl, who was onboard at the time of the explosion, is amongst those still unaccounted for. So far, the Fowl family have refused to comment and reporters have been asked to allow the family privacy at this difficult time._

'_Asked',_ Artemis thought. _That's a polite statement, considering it was Butler who did the 'asking'._

Artemis clicked on a link meant for worried families of the missing crew and passengers and scrolled through the list of the identified dead. The Captain his father had hired for the ship and the names of other crew members Artemis vaguely recognised from the list of employees he had seen The Major going over before he approved them, were written in neat typing in a steady stream of sadness. His heart clenched when he reached the bottom without reading 'Artemis Fowl'. Then he turned to the list of those in hospital. But neither his father nor The Major's names appeared there either.

Artemis bit his lip. He had a choice here.

He could either listen to the genius side of his mind which was screaming that no-one could survive 24 hours without help in the conditions the _Fowl Star_ had gone down in.

Or he could listen to the childish, spark of hope. His father had to be alive.

He decided to be logical about the situation and mentally listed the reasons for the latter.

One: His father had a Butler. They had never let them down before and Artemis was entirely sure that The Major would have a contingency plan for _any_ emergency. Even one involving an exploding ship.

Two: His father had contacts all over the world, including Russia. Likely he had been pulled from the water and taken into hiding from whoever had attacked the ship.

Thee: He was his father. The indestructible Artemis Fowl Senior. He could not be dead. The thought was absurd.

Those reasons alone were enough to keep Artemis hoping for now. And so he left his room in search of Butler.

He found one almost immediately - just not the one he was looking for.

"Good morning, Juliet," he said clearly. She was staring out of one of the ceiling-height windows with her back to him and he had attempted in the past to sneak up on her, with varyingly unpleasant results.

"Is it?" Juliet muttered, glancing over her shoulder at him.

She was dressed in her usual scruffy clothes and looked as stony faced as her brother had been yesterday. Only she was wearing sunglasses.

Inside the manor.

Artemis glanced out of the window to the grey day outside and deduced that she had been crying too. Doubtless it was obvious to Juliet that he himself had been. But, as though in silent, mutual agreement, neither of them mentioned the matter.

"Well I must admit that it isn't, but being a general greeting I felt it appropriate to…"

"Whatever, Artemis," she muttered and stomped off downstairs.

Artemis wouldn't admit it, but it actually bothered him that the youngest Butler had called him 'Artemis' rather than the usual 'Arty'. Still, she was likely as upset as he, even though she tried to hide it and that would affect her dialect and manners. He walked back down the corridor towards his room and almost bumped into Butler exiting his adjacent room.

"Good morning," Artemis said, as way of announcing his presence to the guard. He had only once managed to sneak up on his manservant after over a month of practicing with the bodyguard's sister. Artemis had been so alarmed by the response that he hadn't ever wanted to experience it again. He needn't have worried this time. Butler had heard him coming.

"Morning, sir," Butler replied, straightening his tie and regarding his young employer critically. "How are you feeling?"

"I cannot complain, Butler," Artemis told him. "I am perfectly healthy."

"That's not what I meant and you know it," Butler frowned.

"All things considered, Butler, I could be worse," Artemis sighed. "Have you… have you heard from… of…"

"No," Butler said, squeezing Artemis's shoulder for a second to stop him trying to speak the hated words. "Nothing, yet. But I'll let you know."

Artemis suspected that the _'yet'_ was added for his benefit, but he was grateful for it at any rate.

"And how are you, Butler?" he asked, not expecting an adequate response. He wasn't surprised. Despite his determination to get an answer from his charge, Butler was as open as ever - i.e, not at all.

"Don't you be worrying about me, young sir," Butler said firmly. "If anyone needs worrying about, it's your mother."

Immediately after he'd said it he regretted it, but Artemis nodded.

"Yes, I think I'll go see her now, actually," Artemis said, shoulders drooping. "And you equally should see to Juliet. I saw her just now heading downstairs."

"I'll find her," Butler nodded.

Artemis watched him go and had the strangest of feelings to run after him, demand him to stay by his side day and night. Which was stupid. Butler was paid to do just that. And thinking of pay... Artemis wasn't sure he wanted to look at the affect the attack had had on the family accounts.

* * *

Juliet was in the gym, trying not to look at her uncle's weights as she span a kick into the recently abused hanging punch-bag.

Butler felt an unusual clench of emotion in his chest as he watched through the windows of the gym door.

It was pride. And something akin to sadness.

* * *

"_She adores you, you know."_

_Butler looked up from the circuit-board he was rewiring. There was only one person who could have entered the room without him noticing. And, sure enough, it was his uncle standing over his shoulder, watching him, watching Juliet through the kitchen window. She was in the wooden-sided sandbox in the garden, spinning round repeatedly and occasionally falling flat on her backside._

"_Huh," the younger Butler muttered. "Not right now she doesn't."_

"_Really?" The Major raised an eyebrow. "And why would that be?"_

"_Told her I was too busy to train with her today."_

_The Major nodded and there was a silence whilst Butler tinkered with the electrics._

"_She really needs to work on those kicks," The Major commented._

"_She's much better than she was."_

"_Perhaps, but there's still room for significant improvement."_

_Butler grunted non-commitally. He thought she was pretty good for a six-year-old. He was jolted out of his thoughts as his uncle hooked a boot under the foot-rest and almost pulled the stool he was perched on out from under him. Butler rebalanced almost instantly. Most other people would be on their backside on the tiles before they could blink._

"_Which is why you should be out there training her."_

_The scowl that scarred most Butler's faces for the most of their life lifted instantly._

"_Really?" he dared to ask._

"_Go on. Get out there, I'll finish this."_

_Butler grinned. He didn't need to say it._

"_You're welcome," The Major smiled slightly, watching from the window as his nephew threw open the back door and jogged over to the sandpit. There was a short exchange of words before Juliet attempted to punch her brother in the stomach. Domovoi grabbed her hand and used it to swing her off the floor from where she quite impressively managed to kick him in the chin._

_Considerably hard by the looks of the expression on his nephew's face._

_**Kids,**__ The Major shook his head._

* * *

Butler entered the gym, as silently as ever.

"Bend your knees more. You're off-balance."

The voice was just low enough and grumbly enough to be her uncles, just kindly critical enough to be her brother. She didn't bother turning round, or even adjusting her position. Preferring instead to kick the bag with as much force as she could muster, to rid herself of the small jolt of relief that had sparked into being at the sleep-deprived voice of her brother, so easily mistaken for someone else.

A hand pushed down gently on her shoulder, forcing her knees to bend under the pressure.

"Lower. You'll leave yourself open to a punch in the kidneys like that."

Juliet sniffed, but obeyed instantly, lowering her centre of gravity and performing the kick again.

"Better," Butler nodded.

Of course it was _more _than better. His little sister was the best natural fighter he had ever seen. Child, adult, male or female. She'd ace any of Madame Ko's tests… so long as she could keep her concentration…

"Here," he said, pulling a glove onto his hand. "Hit me. More realistic."

It was. She spun, adjusting her toes minutely and balancing instinctively until she brought her leg round far enough to boot the pad her brother held out for her. She didn't pull the kick and Butler's hand actually bounced back into his chest.

"Good," he told her. "Again."

She did so, then paused.

"Again."

Juliet smashed another kick into her brother's hand.

"Again."

For a few minutes it was the only word to break the silence between the solid smacks of skin on pad. Then Juliet spoke.

"Spar me?"

"OK," Butler shrugged, ripping off the hand pads and kneeling down to give her half a chance at hitting him in the face.

For over half an hour they sparred together, first normally, then with Butler blindfolded to test both his ability and how many hits Juliet could get in when her brother wasn't watching her every tell.

"Have you heard anything?" she broke the silence first. The question was obscure, but she didn't need to clarify. He knew what she meant.

"No," her brother told her. "Not yet."

"What about his watch?"

"Not picking up anything yet," he told her reluctantly. "But it _is_ a watch, not a high-power transmitter. Could be out of signal."

"Yeah. At the bottom of the sea," Juliet muttered, going for a hit to the stomach which her brother had apparently left wide-open, only to have her arm clapped between two giant hands and pulled towards him until their foreheads touched in a mock-headbutt, just to show her what _could_ have happened if they were really fighting. She pulled back, pushing her small hand into his throat gently to show how she would _break _the hold, had they really been fighting.

"No, it works from down there," Butler smiled gently. "We've tried it."

Juliet seemed to consider this, then changed the subject entirely.

"Stand, would you. I want to try something," she ordered him.

He shrugged, hopping to his feet and turning his head in her direction as he heard her clothing snap with the extension of her fist. He caught the punch easily but was genuinely surprised when she brought up a foot and pushed it firmly against his knee. If she had put full force into it, it would have been enough to bring most grown men to the floor. If she had gone for _elsewhere_ at full strength, it would perhaps have even have made him stop for a moment. Then again, it wasn't a dirty tactic he hadn't suffered before. That was something about Madame Ko's Academy. There was no point in having morals if it got you killed. Discipline, yes. But ethics about what was fair and unfair to do, no. She trained the _best_ fighters, not the nicest.

"So you checked the watch?" she confirmed.

He sidestepped and answered truthfully. "Of course I checked. Besides, this is uncle we're talking about. He's so paranoid he probably switched it off in case whoever tried to kill them managed to track him with it."

Juliet had to admit that this was probably true, but she felt childish trying to think of ways her uncle had escaped certain doom once more. But here was her brother, apparently actively doing just that.

"Dom, do you think…you know... that maybe..." she began to ask tentatively.

But at that moment, the door to the gym opened and Harvey poked his head through the gap.

"Butler?"

Both of them turned to face him, heads cocking identically, inquisitively at the intruder. Harvey had the uncomfortable feeling he was disturbing a family moment. Between two sabre-toothed tigers. Butler pulled off the blindfold and blinked in the sudden, bright light.

"Sorry, shall I come back later…"

"No, it's fine. What do you want?" the elder asked.

"Uh… There's a man on the phone about…" Harvey seemed uncomfortable to continue.

"It's alright. You can speak in front of Juliet," Butler told him.

"Well, it's a Russian guy. He doesn't speak much English but from what I've gathered he's from the morgue holding the bodies the search teams have found."

Butler nodded. "I'll see to him."

Juliet didn't seem fazed by the news. "Let me know what he says, yeah?"

Her brother nodded at her. "Make sure you warm down."

Juliet made yapping motions with her hand. "Nag, nag, nag."

But she seemed happier than when they had started, so he was content to leave her to do her stretches in a favourite, old, steady kata to ensure she kept her muscles from stiffening up.

Butler exited the gym in the second suit he had trained in today and took the phone Harvey offered.

"_**Hello?" **_he began in Russian.

"_**Fowl?"**_asked the thick accent on the other end.

"_**No, this is Butler speaking."**_

"_**Are you authorised to send someone to identify the bodies I have here?"**_

"_**I am," **_Butler told him.

"_**I need someone to get down here. They're bringing in more as I speak, the news haven't even heard about it yet. Will you send someone?"**_

"_**I understand. I'll get back to you."**_

Butler thumbed the button to cut the call. If he'd had hair to run his hands through, he would have. As it was, he curled his hand into a familiar position, his thumb automatically twitching as though flicking the safety off an imaginary gun. One of his rare stress tells. But this time, Harvey didn't need to be a Butler-expert to read the mood of the man before him. He'd already spoken to the man on the phone. Nobody would be calm after a conversation like that. Not even a Blue-Diamond bodyguard.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly.

"What?" Butler frowned, surprised by the question. Concern was unusual from anyone other than his sister. Or, occasionally, his uncle. But only usually after a large percentage of his blood was on the outside of his body.

"Sorry," Harvey mumbled, afraid that he had overstepped the mark for the second time that morning. "Just wondering."

"I'm fine... thanks," Butler said slowly, somewhat confused by the conversation.

"It's alright if you're not, you know. None of us are having a nice time out of this."

"Look, cheers Harvey but I'll live," Butler brushed over the concern. "Now. I need a ticket to Russia. No point taking the jet, I have a feeling there'll be a rocket with my name on it if I head over there in a plane with 'Fowl' written on the side. While I'm gone, you need to keep the grounds on a lockdown. No-one goes in or out. We've got enough supplies to last and I don't care whose day off is when, those gates stay closed…"

"Excuse me?" someone else in the hallway laughed sardonically. "I've already worked my day off. You can't possibly expect me to…"

Butler took a deep, calming breath through his nose and held up a finger to silence Harvey, who he could see was already about to say something diplomatic, before spinning on the spot to face the source of the complaint.

Harson glared at him and Butler glared right back, allowing himself to straighten to his full height and stare down the shorter man directly in the eyes. The head of security looked away first. A 'Butler-Stare' almost always had that effect on people. Except against other Butlers. Somehow they were immune to their own talents.

"I think we can all agree here, Harson," he growled softly. "These are extenuating circumstances. If you aren't prepared to work, then I suggest you leave. And by suggest, I mean I will _make_ you leave. Unpaid. Understood?"

"Are you threatening me, boy?"

_Boy._ No-one but his uncle called him that. No-one but his uncle had _any right_ to call him that. Butler ground his teeth in an effort to remain professional.

"No, I'm informing you."

Harson laughed harshly. "You Butlers. You're all the same. You're big with your bodies and big with your words but when it comes to following through... well, let's just say, I thought you guys were the best, but here we are…"

It happened so fast that one second Harson was stood, hands lazily on his hips, feet firmly on the floor, and the next he was up against the wall, feet dangling a good foot above the ground.

"I don't like what I think you're insinuating, Harson," Butler said, ominously quietly. "Care to clarify, or are you going to shut up and let me do my job?"

"What job? _I_ am head of security here," Harson hacked a cough and Butler let him struggle for a few seconds before dropping him without warning.

The man had to use the wall behind him to stop himself from falling to the floor, but still straightened his shirt and drew himself up to his less-than-formidable height - compared to his opponent, at least.

"I'm employed by the Fowls, not _you_," he snapped. "Your precious _uncle_ may have had the authority to fire me, but you don't, sonny."

"Who said anything about firing?" Butler growled. "I don't need to tear up a contract to make you disappear, Harson."

He shouldn't be reacting to this idiot. Especially since, technically, the other man outranked him. Officially, Butler was predominately the Fowl_ heir's_ bodyguard before being the family guard, whereas The Major had been both Artemis Senior's and the _main_ family bodyguard. But with him away, perhaps indefinitely, Butler had taken over the title and all the responsibility with it. However, Harson was still Head of Manor Security and The Major had only outranked him in the house at Mr. Fowl's wishes. Anywhere outside the manor walls, Butler would be in charge. But here, his territory, where he should have everything under his control, this... pompous little man, stood in his way.

Harson immediately took the comment as a threat – who wouldn't?

"You can't get rid of me yet, hotshot. You need all the men you can get. And don't tell me I'm wrong."

"There are others."

"Others? Really?"

"Guys, come on. Stop it," a voice cut in diplomatically. "Everyone's a bit stressed and this isn't help…"

"Keep your opinion's to yourself, Harvey!" Harson spat, spinning on the omega of the security pack as though about to punch him. "Before I…"

Butler sidestepped Harson and planted his hand on the man's chest to stop him from stepping towards the younger security man. Harson looked down at the massive spread across his shirt and faltered for a second. The fingertips stretched almost from shoulder to shoulder. It was like having a bear place a paw over his heart.

"Before you _what,_ Harson?" Butler asked with deadly calm.

Harson's lip twitched as he thought of an answer, but before he could give it, a soft voice cut quietly through the testosterone clogged air.

"Excuse me, gentlemen?"

Artemis stood at the bottom of the stairs. No one had any idea how long he'd been stood there, but it was neither professional, nor reassuring for the young Fowl to see the disorder in the ranks, so to speak.

Butler reigned in his temper, calming the controlled rage roiling through his veins. "Yes, Master Artemis?"

"May I speak to you?" the boy asked.

"Certainly," Butler said amiably. And then, with one final glare at the current head of security, Butler followed his young charge up the stairs. Harvey scarpered with the excuse of another phonecall to make before the man who was technically his boss could transfer his irritation at Butler onto himself.

Harson himself straightened his uniform and sneered at Butler's retreating back. The man was like a dog. Came when he was called and did as he was told. It would be interesting to see who got kicked out in the cold first, once the inevitable budget cuts came in. The head of security was certain that it wouldn't be himself, for one. His job was far more important than being the almost-canine companion of a little boy.

* * *

Artemis waited until he was upstairs before he began his prepared speech. As expected, the accounts had not looked good.

"Butler, as you will probably be aware, our family's funds have been somewhat depleted by the accident. Despite the circumstances, Father would not be best pleased if I simply sat here and did nothing."

Butler said nothing. He was trying to decipher whether Artemis was thinking clearly. The way he spoke gave the bodyguard the impression that his charge thought there was still a chance his father would turn up alive, despite the nigh impossible conditions.

"And so until he returns, I must take charge," he continued.

Ah. So he did still hold onto hope. Butler couldn't decide whether that was a good thing or not. He himself still kept the idea that his uncle could have saved the pair of them, but he knew that he could eventually cope if the worst news came through. Artemis, however? Well, the bodyguard wasn't so sure.

"Obviously I am inexperienced in the matter of handling the family accounts. However, I think I shall cope for the time being."

"I'm certain you can, Artemis," Butler nodded, trying to instil confidence into the boy.

"Now, my second issue. My Mother."

"How is she?" Butler asked, a little ashamed that he hadn't even seen the lady of the house at all today.

"Coping. So far as I can tell. She is a little better today, she seems strong and is holding onto the hope that Father is alive and well and will be returning soon. Although I fear that unless... unless he _is_ found in the immanent future, she may go downhill. If so I will need to employ the help of a medical professional, perhaps someone from the mental health sector... Have you any news from Russia?"

Butler almost raised an eyebrow at the lightning-fast subject change. The boy hadn't even paused for breath.

"Yes sir. We've been asked to send someone over to the Tchersky morgue to identify the bodies."

Artemis's fingers tightened on the edge of the desk, so Butler continued swiftly.

"They haven't found anyone matching your father's description yet. It's not for that. But it would probably be best for someone to be over there as soon as possible, just to check the nearby hospitals and so on. If your father _has_ survived, he won't be publishing his location to the news."

"Indeed. And who are you sending," Artemis asked, then realising how concerned he sounded, added; "Purely out of interest, of course."

"Well, I was intending to go myself, sir," Butler admitted.

For some reason Artemis's composure slipped slightly, but he steadied himself. "Yourself?... Of course, yes of course you would... you would be the one to go…"

"If you would prefer it, I can send someone else," Butler shrugged.

Artemis didn't speak. And that was all the answer his bodyguard needed.

"I'll find someone suitable today."

"No. No, I'm being childish. Of course I would rather have you by my side in the current circumstances, but you're the best man for the job given your… prior experience, and knowledge of the… the bodies you could be identifying."

Butler looked at him. The boy was speaking almost stiltedly and his hands were shaking.

"There _are_ others, Artemis," Butler told him gently. "One of the security team has already offered."

"He has?" Artemis seemed relieved.

"I'll tell him to pack immediately," Butler nodded.

"Oh, well… if you're sure."

"My job is to protect you, Artemis. And you're right. Being several hundred miles away, particularly given the circumstances, is not ideal. Especially not when there are other options available."

He headed to the door, pausing. "Is there anything else you need?"

"Could you have a maid to bring me something to eat?"

"Certainly, Artemis," Butler nodded. "Anything in particular."

"Nothing special. Caviar, perhaps. And some crackers?" the boy asked hopefully.

"Certainly, Artemis," Butler repeated with an almost indiscernible shake of his head at the request.

Once he had closed the door behind him, Artemis let out the shaky breath he had been holding back. For some reason it had shook him to the core that his bodyguard was considering heading out to Russia. How childish, how _pathetic_, to demand otherwise. Could he not stand on his own two feet, alone?

_No, it's basic psychology,_ Artemis convinced himself. _A child of my age needs some stability - especially after an event like this – and for me, Butler is that stability._

It was only after the door had been closed for several seconds, that Artemis realised he hadn't even thought to thank the man.

* * *

**Ta Da!**

**Well that was a floopin' massive chapter compared to the last few. The next one isn't half as long, but I didn't want to chop this one up. I liked it the way it was and hope you agree.**

**Sorry if I haven't replied to your review, I just did the last chapter's worth now but think I missed the one before that. I'll try to catch all of you on the next one.**

**Hope all you fellow UK folk have a good Bank Holiday 4 days.**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Wolfy**

**ooo  
**** O**

**31-05-12**


	7. Never Say Die

**Thanks to: _2whitie, Sandd, Shadow Huntress (x2),__ Steinbock_ and_ Fowl Star 57_ - you're all awesome!**

**WARNING: Not-_too_-gruesome-mentions-of-dead-bodies. Bit of an angsty chappie. But it does start the ball rolling on the actual reason this fic was written. Which can only be a good thing... hopefully!**

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

_**Never Say Die**_

**TCHERSKY, NORTHERN RUSSIA, FOUR YEARS AGO – THE PAST**

Harvey made his way over to the receptionist of the morgue and slid his ID onto the desk. It was fake, despite the fact that the Mafia shouldn't have any cause to attack him. He was neither a Fowl, nor a Butler.

"_**Yzveeneete,"**_ Harvey said slowly and carefully as he had heard the woman on the recording say over and over again during his flight from Ireland. _**"Vy gavareeteh pa anglisky?"**_

_Excuse me, do you speak English?_

The man on the desk looked it over and nodded.

"You are from Fowl?" he asked in broken English.

"_**Da,"**_ Harvey attempted some of the simpler Russian that Butler had tried to teach him before he left. _**"Ya ploha gavaru pa Ruski**__**. Gavareeteh medlenie**__**, pozhaluista."**_

_Yes, my Russian is bad.__ Could you speak slowly, please?_

The pair seemed to realise that they were falling into the stereotypical trap of each attempting to speak eachother's language. In actuality, Harvey wasn't doing so badly, but the extent of his knowledge ended after the phrasebook he had been reading and his accent was terrible. The only phrase Butler had insisted he learn had been _**'I know the Butler family'**_. Just in case.

Harvey thought back to the conversation a few hours ago in the grand hallway of the nice, safe Fowl Manor.

"_Most likely they'll have a translator, or at least someone with a bit of our lingo. But if not and you feel out of your depth, just keep speaking English. You don't want to anger anyone."_

"_Any other tips?"_

"_Always use the 'te' form of the word '__**Yzveenee'**__. It's politer."_

"_Anything else?"_

"_Read this on the way over," Butler chucked a small, battered phrasebook at the security man __and Harvey felt his head spinning with things he had to remember._

"_Right. Am I set to go now?"_

"_One more thing. And this is the only thing you have to say properly. It'll either save your life or get you killed and unfortunately there's no way of telling which, but if they're going to kill you anyway, you might as well try it. __**Ya znayu Butler sem'ya.**__"_

"_What does it mean?" Harvey asked, once he had repeated it a few times._

"_It means 'I know the Butler family'," Butler smirked slightly. "And if they know us too, they'll probably think twice about harming you."_

"_No one mentioned anything about risking my life before I signed up for this," Harvey muttered, hoisting his bag onto his shoulder as his taxi arrived._

_Butler shrugged. "If you don't go, I will."_

"_No, I'll do it. I offered. I'll just keep my head down."_

"_Good man. Call me if you learn anything."_

Two taxi rides and a plane journey later and here he was, standing in front of a man behind a desk who suddenly smiled at him.

"My English is little more good. I will speak the language of your country."

"Thank-you," Harvey said, relieved. This was going to be hard enough without trying to translate Russian.

"Follow, please," said the man and Harvey suddenly recognised the voice as being the same as the one that had spoken to him on the phone and took comfort from the fact that at least he was probably in the right place.

He followed his guide into a room lined with shapes hidden under sheets. He doubted they were arrangements of buffet food. Harvey swallowed down the bile that filled his throat and watched as the Russian pulled back the sheet on the first one.

It was going to be a long day.

Together with the morgue staff, armed with a crew list and some identification photographs, he managed to identify most of the less-damaged bodies. A lot of them had already been named and claimed, so to speak. But it was the ones who had suffered fire-damage or who had been near the centre of the explosion that Harvey and his new 'friend' were forced to try to identify.

The fire had taken hold on some and the water exposure hadn't helped either.

It took quite some time, fishing through remnants of clothing for personal possessions. A few wallets, some looted, but leaving forms of identification such as drivers licenses to go on. The more bodies they worked their way through, the more and more hopeful Harvey began to get.

_Maybe. Just maybe..._

They were reaching the last few in the line when they found him.

"This one is worse damage, I think," the morgue man told him sadly, lifting a sheet covering a massive shape. "Brace self. Is not pretty."

It wasn't. The man had obviously been trapped in a fire. There was barely any clothing on his body. To be fair, there was barely any skin, either.

"I think this one is for no-name grave," the Russian said with a sigh. "Unless there one name left at end. Wallet have many I.D, see? What you think?"

He passed the wallet over and Harvey flipped through the names. None of them seemed familiar, but he felt a chill creep into his chest. He knew people who often carried many IDs.

But there was no point getting worked up about a coincidence yet.

Harvey considered the body with a gaze hardened by a few hours of work and a few years of experience. But this one was different. The face was burnt beyond recognition – or at least without referring to dental records – but the size of the body alone gave him some idea. He felt a fresh wave of nausea hit him and he steeled himself before reaching out a plastic-gloved hand. He lifted the arm gingerly. It was heavy and stiff, wrapped only in what little material had been left by the fire, but it was the band around the wrist that he was most interested in looking at.

Stuck to the wrist, melded there by the heat of the fire no doubt, was the remnants of a silver-coloured watch.

It was as damaged as they body itself, but still, Harvey was sure he recognised it and his stomach lurched. He looked at the rest of the body.

Male. Over six foot. _Well_ over. Shaven head, or at least from what he could tell. Perhaps the fire had burnt the scalp bare.

He inspected the watch closer, managing to undo the clasp and pulling it carefully off the wrist, biting the inside of his lip at the gory view of bone the action produced. Once it was free of the damaged hand, he turned it over onto his palm and wiped the back of the watch-face with his thumb. Butler had told him, almost as though it didn't matter, that he should check watches for personalised messages.

Engraved on the back, in seven minute characters, was the message:

_Love D & J_

Harvey placed the watch on the table as quickly as if it had bitten him, feeling as though he had just seen something no-one but the owner of the watch should ever have seen.

_J_ - that could be Juliet. _D_ - well he would guess that would be the first character of Butler's first name. Briefly, he wondered what it might be. Daniel? Damien? Dominic? It didn't matter anyway. He could guess forever and the bodyguard would never tell him. Besides, maybe the watch and its message had nothing to do with the Butlers.

There was another thing to check yet. Perhaps the watch was just_ similar_ to the one he was thinking of...

He tracked his gaze up the same arm as he had removed the watch from and peeled the remainder of the jacket off the stiffened shoulder, ripping the sleeve of the shirt off slightly. The morgue man didn't ask what he was doing. Harvey had done it with more than one of the bodies to check for… the tattoo.

Under his gaze, the blue diamond stood out on the skin, miraculously unharmed. But that only made it worse. Had the tattoo been marred, he could have kidded himself that it wasn't… suddenly Harvey couldn't take it anymore and looked away from the burnt face swiftly. He took out the biro he had been using all day and wrote a name shakily on the tag attached around the body's wrist.

…'_The Major' Butler…  
…Bodyguard to Artemis Fowl Senior…_

This was the only time he had reacted with any emotion and the man with him noticed.

"You know this man?"

"Yes," Harvey said, swallowing the lump in his throat. It seemed a good moment to use the phrase he had been taught, to try to get across the fact that this man had been important in his life. "_**Da, ya znayu Butler sem'ya**_."

"I am sorry," the man said genuinely. "You wish not to continue?"

"No," Harvey swallowed again. His tongue felt like sandpaper after the time spent in the dry air of the body room. "I mean yes. I have too. There's only a few left now."

If The Major was here, there was a good chance one of the last three bodies he had to check would be that of Mr. Fowl's.

Bracing himself for that, Harvey took the corners of the sheet and covered up the man he had worked with as gently as tucking a child into bed.

"Sleep well, sir," he said softly. "God, or whoever it is you Butlers believe in, knows you deserve it."

He stepped back, sniffed, then moved on.

The next body, bearded and rotund, let in a shiver of hope. When the second too, bore no resemblance to his employer, he dared to begin to wonder if the bodyguard's last act had actually been to succeed in saving his charge. It was likely. How else would The Major have gone down but swinging?

Harvey's hands gripped the last sheet and for a second he didn't want to lift it. Then, with an air of finality he pulled it back and felt almost immediately a pang of regret for the relief he felt when his eyes fell upon some poor deceased crew member that was definitely not Artemis Fowl. He identified him from the pile of ID photographs and stepped back from the gruesome line-up.

"That is all they have brought in," his Russian companion told him. "If there is more, I will call, yes?"

"Yes," Harvey nodded. _**"Spaseebo."**_

_Thank-you._

"_**Ne-za-chto,"**_ the man shrugged. _Don't mention it._

They made their way back to the front of the building and Harvey bid farewell to the man, stepping outside into the freezing air. He breathed deeply, trying to refrain from throwing up in the nearest snow-blocked drain. The fresh air felt good in his lungs and he calmed himself, taking in the feeling of being alive, not confined in a cold, impersonal room entombed under a sheet like the unlucky others.

But there were some more fortunate.

He'd better check the survivors, even though they had all been named, there may have been a mistake, or Mr. Fowl could have given a fake name.

In reality, he knew he was just prolonging the inevitable phonecall.

* * *

**FOWL MANOR, DUBLIN, IRELAND, FOUR YEARS AGO - THE PAST**

No matter how used to hearing bad news you became, the death of a family member always hit harder than a sledgehammer to the chest. And Butler had felt both the literal and metaphorical form of the phrase many more times than he had ever wanted to in his life.

Right now, he would have taken the broken ribs without a second's contemplation.

But he had remained professional on the phone.

_"Just have him buried locally, cheapest you can get."_

_"Really?" Harvey's voice came through the phone, fuzzy and unclear._

_"Yes. He wouldn't have wanted anything other," Butler assured him. "If he's got any weaponry, personal stuff, or anything left then try bring it back. They've probably searched the body and confiscated the lot though, so if you can't then don't worry about it."_

_"Right. OK. I'll do my best," the security man said. "And Butler? I'm sorry mate. I really am."_

_"You didn't fire the Stinger, Harvey. Forget it. Just sort the legalities over there and head home."_

Then he'd thanked Harvey, wished him a safe journey home and hung up before the man could offer any more condolences.

The survivors had been who they said they were. His uncle was dead and Mr. Fowl was still missing.

And so Butler had gone for a run under the pretence of checking the perimeter. He'd have to tell Juliet. That would be the hardest. To her, it would be like losing a parent all over again. At the time, her four-year-old self had been told about their parents' disappearance, but not fully understood. Her brother had had to explain to her that they weren't coming back. The person who had been looking after her in America had simply told her that 'Mommy and Daddy have gone away on a boat and got lost in the sea'.

_Stupid woman,_ Butler had thought and The Major had told him, with his typical gentle firmness, that he must put the girl right, else he would himself.

And so Domovoi had sat down and told her.

* * *

**FOWL MANOR, DUBLIN, IRELAND - DISTANT PAST**

"_But Sophia told me they'd gone on a boat and got losted."_

_Butler looked at the four-year-old in front of him. Her eyes were bright with tears and she was chewing her lip furiously. And she had to know the truth._

"_Yes, Juliet. And that is true," he admitted. "But they **really** probably won't be coming back."_

_Juliet had looked at her brother, confused. Seeing him used to be a treat, but now he was always there. Everyone spoke in strange accents, strong, hard to understand and not quite friendly._

_"You mean not... not **never?**"_

"_No, Jules. Not ever."_

_And Juliet had simply straightened herself up and said with the stubbornness both of this generation of Butler siblings had inherited._

"_But they might **not** be deaded."_

_Butler felt something tighten in his throat. She was four years old. She should know nothing of death. But he could hardly tell her that their parents had gone to live on a farm, as most __**normal **__families did at their child's first loss. It should have been a hamster, or some other family pet. A **hamster** should be a child's first experience with the matter. Or some old, barely known relative. An elderly grandparent at a push. But not parents. And especially not both of them._

"_Maybe not Jules," he said quietly._

"_So maybe they'll come back, then?" she asked hopefully._

"_I don't know, Jules. I don't know."_

* * *

And he still didn't know. They hadn't been found yet, almost a decade later. Yet Juliet still hadn't really given up hope. This time too, she had again retained a little hope. He was sure of it. And now he had to crush that. They'd found him. No more mystery. No more secret faith in their uncle's complete and utter indestructability.

Nothing was permanent. Nothing lasted for ever.

He ran harder. Feet pounding into the floor. He wasn't running properly, with trained near-silence and a pace he could keep up, theoretically, until he died of old age. His knees would start complaining soon. Or he'd get shot by a hidden assassin that heard him crashing through the undergrowth. And although it was selfish and stupid and entirely against the training he had gone through his entire life, he didn't much care at that moment.

Finally, he reached the corner furthest from the manor and leaned against the stone wall, breathing deeply until his pulse-rate settled, trying to ignore the memories rushing through his head.

* * *

**FOWL MANOR, DUBLIN, IRELAND - DISTANT PAST**

_"Son," said his mother. "This is your uncle. Myles, this is Domovoi."_

_The young boy looked up at the giant and the giant looked down at the little boy. He was the spit of his younger self. The very essence of his brother._

_"Hello," said the man._

_"Hello," repeated the boy cautiously._

_Theresa watched. It was almost funny. Like watching an elephant with a mouse and being unsure of which was more afraid of the other._

_"You're my dad's brother," the boy stated simply._

_"Yes. He's my twin."_

_At that, Domovoi's face lit up in one of his rare smiles._

_"What is he like?"_

_'Is', not 'was' - Myles found that he quite liked this boy already._

_"Well, I suppose he's a lot like me."_

_"Will you teach me to be like him, then? To be like you?"_

_"If you like," Myles shrugged. He wasn't sure that the boy knew what he was asking for, but he was damned if any nephew of his wasn't going to have a crack at breaking his and his twin's record for being the youngest person ever to gain a Blue-Diamond._

* * *

Butler had met his father eventually. And although he viewed it as one of the greatest things to happen to him in his life, his father himself would be the first to admit that he had had no hand in his son's upbringing and could only claim the fact that he had given him half his genes, as any input towards his success. It had been The Major who had begun training his nephew to become the best bodyguard in the business. It had been The Major who had been Butler's male role model throughout his childhood. It had been The Major who needed to be credited, or blamed, with his nephew's success as a bodyguard.

* * *

**FOWL MANOR, DUBLIN, IRELAND - DISTANT PAST**

_"Stand there and don't move."_

_The boy stood on the spot, back straight, knees slightly bent in case something should occur that overrode the command to stay still._

_"Now, whenever you pick up a... are you listening to me, boy?"_

_"Yes Uncle, sir," the seven-year-old rattled, snapping his eyes away from the object of his desire - the sleek, gleaming gun lain on the table before him._

_"Then let me see the light in your eyes or it'll be press-ups until you learn to look at your superiors when they are talking to you!"_

_"Yessir."_

_"Unless what?" the man added as a test._

_"Unless they tell you not to, sir."_

_"Good. __Now, whenever you pick up a gun, always check the safety is on. Or else..." The Major scooped at the gun carelessly, hooking his thumb through the trigger-guard to pick it up. There was a small-scale explosion and a bullet disappeared into the sound-proofed wall of the gun room behind Domovoi. To the boy's credit, he didn't move from his spot. Which was fortunate as if he had, the bullet could have gone through him before its final resting place. "...**that**, could happen."_

_The Major critiqued the look on his nephew's face. He had been expected shock, maybe even fear. He had been hoping for, and received, the look of awed admiration, tinted with the excitement of youth._

_"Now, why did I do that?"_

_"So that I wouldn't later, Uncle."_

_It was The Major's way to use shock tactics to make his student remember. The trigger was a hair-trigger and the slightest jostle could make it go off, which could be dangerous. Especially if the handler was slinging it around carelessly, as he had demonstrated._

_"Correct," his uncle said, flicking the safety on and dropping it onto the desk. "__Pick it up, then."_

_Domovoi looked at him for conformation. "Really? I can touch it?"_

_"Boy, you can **shoot** it, if you want."_

_"Yes please!" Domovoi grinned, reaching for the weapon and lifting it as gently as he would lift a kitten. He checked the safety was definitely in the 'on' __position and flipped it over in his hands. It was beautiful. Deadly beauty, but beauty all the same._

_The Major considered the look on his nephew's face. The gun was one of his newer ones and he always preferred the reliability of his older weapons. He could make a bet, on the off-chance that... well, just out of interest..._

_"Reckon you could hit that?" he pointed at a target._

_Domovoi shrugged, slightly self-consciously. He knew he could definitely hit it with any of the paint-guns or air-rifles his uncle had been getting him to train with, but he had never fired an actual live-ammo firearm in his life._

_"Don't shrug at me, boy. Tell me. And none of that pathetic 'ooh maybe I could' shite. Yes or no answer."_

_The boy barely paused before answering as confidently as he dared. "Yessir. I can hit it."_

_"Good lad," his uncle nodded approvingly. "Go on then."_

_Domovoi lined up the gun first, sighting along the length of his arm._

_"Breathe properly," The Major reminded him quietly._

_Domovoi inhaled, flicking off the safety as if he had been doing so for years._

_"If you hit the bullseye," the elder Butler said quietly, so as not to disturb the seven-year-old's concentration. "You can keep the gun. Sound fair?"_

_A slight smile spread across his nephew's face as he breathed out and..._

_With an ear-splitting **'crack'**, t__he bullet buried itself in the centre ring._

_The Major nodded, concealing the pride on his expression as he checked the shot's accuracy. Dead centre. On his first ever shot. Not even Beckett or himself had ever managed that._

_"Good shot," he nodded, a smirk finding its way onto his face. "It's yours."_

_And Domovoi flicked the safety back on and flipped the gun onto his palm to gaze at it once again. His first gun. __His._

* * *

For Juliet, at first, it had been different. For four years of her life, she had grown up with two parents to guide, protect and teach her. Of course that had been in the beginning. Following that, she had been brought up entirely by two men with every idea of how to kill a man, but very little idea at all of how to raise a little girl. But together they had muddled through and Butler had to say that neither of them had been disappointed with the result so far. Still, he often wondered what Juliet would have be like if she had gotten the chance to grow up in a stereotypical family situation. Albeit with a family of Blue-Diamonds.

* * *

**FOWL MANOR, DUBLIN, IRELAND - DISTANT PAST**

_It was a rare occasion. Five Butlers sat together in the gardens of the manor. They were spread in a semi-circle on the grass, the manor clearly in view should they be called upon or needed at any moment. But other than that, they were as close to relaxed as they could be, content in eachother's company. For whatever the threat, it would be faced with the concept of coming up against the best trained family in the world._

_"You look like Daddy," the little girl told one of the men as she clung to her mother's trouser leg. "And Dom."_

_"Well he is my twin, Julie," her father laughed, ruffling her hair._

_"And what did your Dad say about names whilst we're at the Fowls' house, young lady?" Theresa scolded her daughter gently._

_"Sorry Mum. Sorry Dad," the three-year-old squirmed. "Sorry... bro."_

_She darted across the grass and planted a slightly snotty kiss on her brother's cheek._

_"Eurgh yuk, Jules," he mock-complained, tipping her with one hand and tickling her ribs. "Ya lil' minger."_

_"Ya big smelly-face."_

_"Oi you cheeky little..."_

_Myles watched them, his nephew was clearly besotted with his little sister. It was clear in the way he gently flipped her over like a puppy and allowed her to kick at him with all the strength in her little legs. Sure, she was small, but he could tell she would be a feisty one. She already learning the basics of self-defence. Right now, it was just a game. But like the young cub of any predator, she was learning tricks which would help her survive in the future. And her brother knew it. And Myles's own brother knew it. And they all knew that Theresa wasn't very happy with it, but she would rather her daughter knew how to protect herself than rely on others._

_"What am I supposed to call you, then?" Juliet asked her uncle suddenly, snapping him out of his thoughts. She has stopped fighting with her brother and considered him with eyes an exact mix between his brother's and his sister-in-law's. She had inherited much more of her mother's looks than his nephew had, but the Butler gene was strong in the way she looked at him sharply._

_"You can call me Uncle," he told her._

_"Is that what my big brother calls you?" she asked sceptically, as though she was being tricked into calling him a false name._

_**Suspicious nature, check. Fighting instinct, check. 'The Look', check. Definitely one of us,** The Major thought._

_"Yep," her brother told her, then winked at his uncle. "Well, most of the time, anyway."_

_Other things he called The Major on a fairly regular basis included many less-than-polite names. But, as he had been called pretty much all of them himself by the man in question, there was no malice in the words any more._

_"Then you can call me Jules," she said decisively. "Because that's what my brother calls me."_

* * *

**FOWL MANOR, DUBLIN, IRELAND, FOUR YEARS AGO - THE PAST**

Juliet knew when her brother turned up at her door, a little sweaty and refusing to make proper eye-contact. She knew before he even asked her to come for a jog with him. She knew even before they reached the bench that often served as either a start or finishing point for the playful summer races they'd use as training. And_ he_ knew before he told her, that she already knew.

She was mostly stoic, picking at the flakes of paint on the old bench and listening. There was a silence after he spoke that seemed to stretch for an eternity.

"They're burying him over there, right?" she said eventually.

"Yes."

"Is there a funeral we have to go to or something?"

"No."

"Good."

Somewhere in the dusk, an owl hooted. The tension broke and they sat together not in the silence of loss, but in the comfortable silence of siblingship. Butler draped an arm over his little sister's shoulder gently.

"How you holding up?"

"I'll be alright."

"I know. But how are you _now?_"

"Fine."

"Not then."

Juliet could never lie to her big brother.

"How are _you?_" she diverted.

"Fine and dandy."

"Not, then."

Domovoi could never lie to his little sister.

"No. And neither are you. But we will be."

"Because we're Butlers."

"Yes. And because uncle would haunt us forever if we blubbered over him too long."

"Yes. And that."

Juliet smiled slightly and, after a quick glance round to make sure no-one else could bring up the fact, snuggled into her brother's training shirt.

"Dom?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Please don't die on me."

"Jules…" he sighed with quiet exasperation at the impossible request.

"Just say you promise to_ try_ not to."

"Fine. You have my word that I will not unnecessarily_ 'die on you',_ as you put it."

"What counts as _necessary?_" Juliet asked quietly.

But they both knew she already knew the answer to that.

And so her brother just hugged her silently on the cold bench in the coming dark and hoped that he could keep his promise for a long time to come.

* * *

**Well, early update. Just coz I felt like it - so Happy Jubilee day :)**

**Aww *sniff* see, even hearts of stone can hurt sometimes.**

**Apologies for the extensive amount of angst in this chapter, but it was kinda necessary. This isn't supposed to be an 'all fun and games' fic. The story needs to be told. I hope the memories 'DISTANT PAST' bits added to it.**

**If the Russian/English language-y stuff annoys people or if you are, in fact, Russian and it is awful (I'm not. It's likely grammar issues since I used a translator - so you can blame that!) then let me know. I don't think it happens again with translation written by it anyway. Don't hold me on that though haha :)**

**And yes, I know Artemis and Angeline aren't really in this, but it is about the Butlers, not really the Fowls. I'm sure someone else / Eoin Colfer himself will write about their time through this.**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Wolfy**

**ooo  
O**


	8. The Man Who Washed Ashore

**Thanks to: _Steinbock, Sandd, Shadow Huntress, 2whitie_ and_ Fowl Star 57 _for the reviews and to _Lucia Delaluna_ for the fave.**

**WARNINGS: Not as long as the others, don't get your hopes up too much.**

**INFO: _'BoldItalics'_ = Russian**

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

_**The Man Who Washed Ashore**_

**MURMANSK, NORTHERN RUSSIA, FOUR YEARS AGO – THE PAST**

Zory wandered down the beach forlornly. He had just finished collecting a net full of these metal cylinders full of a sweet liquid with the hope of selling them on at the market, when two big men took them from him, claiming they were Mafia property. Not wanting to mess with the Mafia he'd handed them over - along with his second best net - and ran away very quickly indeed. And now he'd been out collecting all day with nothing to show for it. His grandfather would not be pleased with him.

Truth was, Zory wondered how they were going to survive this winter. His grandfather was getting old. They had taken their fishing boat out together last week, caught barely enough to cover the fuel costs and upon that, his grandfather had caught a cough that had rendered him bedridden for almost three days. The proud old Russian had not been pleased with that. But, as Zory had pointed out, he could end up in an orphanage if it wasn't for his grandfather. His grandfather had been quick to counter that if he _didn't_ get up and work then they would end up together until they died - which would not be very long.

Up ahead there was a large piece of debris. Hoping to redeem himself, the young local trotted over uncertainly to it.

It looked like a pile of clothing and thinking perhaps he could salvage some, he stepped towards it confidently. But then again… Zory saw a pale limb, nastily marked with red raw burns and mottled with dark-blue of the beginnings of frostbite. Thinking it was a body he shuddered and made his way forward much more cautiously. He did not particularly want to come face to face with a deceased human being, but his village was poor and clothing was clothing.

There was a long, bloodied drag mark in the snow, stretching to the dark water that lapped greedily at the shore. In the distance, thick, dark smoke billowed into the sky from the last vestiges of the ship which had exploded that morning. Zory cast his gaze down to the body. There was probably money in a wallet in some pocket of the wrecked jacket. Maybe it wouldn't be the right currency, but he could get that exchanged...

Decision made, Zory approached with the intention of looting a body for the first, and hopefully _only_, time in his life.

But, just as he got within touching distance, the body groaned gruffly and rolled over, dark eyes rolling in their sockets and coming to rest gazing blankly at the darkening sky. Zory yelped and backed away so quickly that he tripped over his own boots and landed flat on his back. By the time he'd scrabbled upright again at a safer distance, the 'body' was moving.

"Argh...tum...uhs," the man mumbled through broken lips, trying to get to his feet, steadying himself on his hands and knees. Zory took another step back at that. The man was almost eye-level with him already and he wasn't even fully upright. His face was covered in blood from some massive head trauma. It was a wonder the man had regained conciousness at all. There was certainly a very good chance that his injuries would kill him before he could chase after Zory so the boy gulped down the fear in his throat and moved slightly closer.

"_**Excuse me?**_" he asked nervously in Russian. _**"Are you alright, sir?"**_

"_Where_. Is. He?" the huge man growled, rubbing an iced hand over his face and wincing at the frostbite and blinking, confused at the sheet of red coating that came off on his hand. He paused suddenly as though remembering something, then patted himself down frantically, seemingly relieved when he found a familiar lump. He slid it out of its holster and checked it, swearing when he realised the extent of the water damage.

"_**I don't speak much English**_," Zory said apologetically, backing away again from the man with the gun. "_**But you should probably sit down, mister. You look real bad.**_"

The injured man frowned, brain sluggishly trying to translate what the boy was saying. Russian was actually partly his first language. His father, being Russian himself, had spoken often to his sons in his native language when they had been young. Their mother had been Irish and so their children had grown up simultaneously learning English and Russian. However, he had used English for most of his life and right now only one thing kept returning to his mind. Giving up on the Russian for the moment, he asked again in English.

"Where's Artemis?"

Zory thought about the question. He knew a _little _English, since his grandfather, a fairly fluent speaker, had taught him some in case he should ever need to trade with Englishmen or tourists at the local market. But prices and product names weren't really what he needed here.

"Me... know not... any... Artemis," he said slowly and carefully, enunciating clearly to make up for the lack of fluency.

Suddenly the man lurched to his feet unexpectedly, muttering word's which Zory would guess were multiple expletives in English and stood there, swaying like a half-felled tree.

"_**Mister you should sit down!**_" Zory reverted to Russian and backed away from the injured giant. "_**I'll get someone to help.**_"

"Got to find... Artemis," the man mumbled distractedly, spitting a fair-sized globule of spit and blood onto the pristine white snow. "Protec'… th' principle."

Zory kept well out of range, which proved to be a good idea when, despite his best efforts to the country, the man crashed to the floor after a few staggering steps and lay unconscious in the snow.

Zory took one last look at the strange giant that had washed ashore and sprinted for his grandfather's house.

* * *

The man awoke to the sound of water being sloshed around. For a moment, he thought he was back on the boat, perhaps knocked out by the…

_Explosion._

Training for once abandoned, he sat bolt upright without any warning, knocking a bucket crashing to the floor and making the boy who had been dabbing lukewarm water over his hand with a rough cloth yelp in fright. His eyes took in every aspect of the room instantly, every shadow, every piece of furniture, where the door was and, sat in an armchair adjacent to himself, an old man, watching him with a sharp gaze.

His head felt like it was going to spontaneously combust, but he had had worse head injuries before, hadn't he? Wait. When?

"_**Please go get another towel to mop that up, Zory. I shall talk with our guest,"**_ the old man said in Russian.

The boy scrambled to his feet and out of the room. A draught of cold air slipped through and the man noted automatically that cold normally meant outside and outside meant an escape.

"Hello. My name is Aramazd," said the elderly gentleman in accented English. "You are in my house, we are treating you for your injuries."

But the recently awoken man ignored him. He was neither threat nor… nor what? Or nor _who?_ He raised a hand to his head and felt that someone had put a dressing on his right temple. Temporary memory loss was not uncommon with head trauma, his inner medical journal informed him. But he felt sure he should be looking for someone in particular. Someone who was not here. A brother? The notion felt close to the mark, but not quite right. The man scowled. He did not like missing his mark. In any form of the phrase. He pressed his fingers to his head in annoyance, trying to force the drifting memories back in.

"Don't poke that please. It will become uncomfortable."

The man looked up at the person, taking in the old body and kindly face. But he did not let down his guard. Madame Ko was getting on, yet if anyone underestimated her, they'd sure know about it.

"Who are you?" the old man asked. His voice was quiet, but not so much that the other had to strain to hear it over the crackling of the fire or the bubbling of boiling water.

"I don't know," the shivering man on the sagging sofa muttered. Shivering at least meant the hypothermia was almost over. "I was on a ... a ship, I think."

"Yes," the man chuckled slightly. "That much we guessed. You don't remember a name?"

"Fowl," the man's eyes cleared slightly. "Artemis Fowl."

"Was that the boat's name?" asked the old man. "Is it _your_ name?"

"No. I don't think... I don't know. It's important. _Very_ important," the man scowled, trying to remember.

"Well until further notice, we shall call you 'Artemis', as a way of referring to you, other than 'the man who washed ashore', anyway."

"Where are my things?" he asked, realising that he was dressed in clothes that were not his own and were rather too small.

But, of course, it wasn't his_ clothes_ he was worried about. He could run around outside butt-naked, even in this temperature, for a good while so long as he had a few essential items of his armoury.

"Drying," the old man said simply. "I would like you to stay at least until you are well enough to leave."

"I am well enough now," the larger man said, perhaps a little rudely, but he didn't much care. He needed his gun, he needed his keys, probably his passport too… and most importantly, he needed to find… _argh _there it was again. An blankness where memories should be. He remembered what was missing, he was sure of that, it had just been filed away improperly in the library of his brain and needed searching for. Needed to find _what?_

"I beg to differ, friend," the man chuckled. "You appear to have fractured your skull and other than that my grandson, Zory, is treating you for frostbite and I will see if find some burn salve for you too. With a wound like that on your head you would not get so far. It would not be sensible for you to leave before you are treated. Although obviously I am powerless to stop you if you choose to do so."

The man scowled and grudgingly lay back on the sofa, assessing his injuries himself. The old Russian was right. He was a mess. His hands were battered, a mishmash of bright red burns and dark patches of frostbite. He should probably have been worried about the frostbite – he hadn't felt the boy cleaning him up at all. He wiggled his fingers and most of them moved, which was a good start. At least his trigger fingers and thumbs were fine. He shifted around a little and winced. Probably a rib gone, although likely it was just a crack since he didn't seem to be coughing up blood. Or at least not yet. His legs were all in one piece too and he could move his feet and nearly all of his toes, with a bit of pain. His face seemed pretty mashed up but at least his skull felt solid. Other than the massive blow to the temple, of course. And really, he wasn't in bad shape there either considering what he had been through. He would be up and running fairly normally within a week or so. Practically a miracle really after all he had...

Wait, what _had _he been through?

"We found some documents in your jacket," the old man said conversationally. "But they are all too wet to read, I'm afraid."

"So I'm… Artemis?"

"We don't know. So for now you are, yes."

The man now called 'Artemis', frowned. He was sure that wasn't right. Perhaps he'd remember after a good sleep. The boy returned and nervously began mopping up the spilt water. He had dark hair, unusual in Russia, but maintained the customary pale skin. His eyes were a sparkling blue and for some reason he seemed incredibly familiar…

"Would you allow Zory to continue treating your injuries?" asked the boy's grandfather. "He really is quite a natural."

"_**Da, konechno,"**_ the injured man muttered automatically._ Yes, of course_

He was still thinking. He was sure 'Artemis' wasn't his name. But then who's was it? Who could be so important? His family. Did he have family? A brother. He had a brother. That much he was sure of. But no. No. Lost. He was lost. Where? The man didn't know. For some reason he felt that he was alone in the world.

"_**Ah, you speak Russian too?"**_ the old man said, obviously pleased.

"_**Yes, my father was," **_the man's mouth supplied before his brain could even think about it. OK. So he was speaking a second language with apparently no effort and his father was a Russian, or at least a Russian speaker, but he himself wasn't. He was... English? No. Scottish? Closer. Irish. He was Irish, wasn't he? Maybe not. A mix of something, perhaps.

"_**But you are not?"**_

"_**I've no idea."**_ – he wasn't lying either. Now that he had questioned it, his brain refused to work properly. Apparently he had to be in some sort of twilight-zone of not thinking whilst thinking, in order to remember things. He wondered if he had indeed washed ashore, how he had got to where he was now. The man and his grandson were not really of the build required to shift someone of his size.

"_**Well for now I suggest you get some sleep. You look as though you need it."**_

He nodded automatically, wincing slightly at the jolt of pain the movement caused. Sleep was probably a good idea. Then again, there was the risk of concussion...

He probably shouldn't…

But as the boy began washing his arms again, the sofa seemed to suck him into a world of darkened comfortableness and he allowed himself to close his eyes.

Just to fend off the headache drilling into his brain...

Just for a few seconds...

Just...

* * *

**FOWL MANOR, DUBLIN, IRELAND, FOUR YEARS AGO - THE PAST**

It was raining when Harvey returned, which seemed appropriate for the mood at the Manor.

Whilst he'd been away Mrs. Fowl had barely ventured from the master bedroom, Artemis Junior had stayed locked up in his study and Juliet had spent so much time in the gym that her brother was beginning to worry about her. Three nights in a row now he had gone to bid her goodnight and instead had to go looking for her. Three nights in a row he had found her curled up on one of the gym benches under a towel where she had dropped after training herself into exhaustion. And three nights in a row he had carried her upstairs and she had barely stirred at all as he tucked her into bed.

A flash lit up the sky, followed a few seconds after by an ominous rumble of thunder.

The taxi driver whistled lowly. "I'm glad you're the last of my shift, mate. Doesn't look like it'll be letting up any time soon."

"Yeah, looks like its setting in for the night," Harvey agreed, paying him quickly and bidding him farewell before he started up the steps, bag in one hand, the other held out ready to type his code into the door. He could do with a shower and an early bed - if Harson would let him have the night off, that was. He hurried towards the door, rain literally bouncing off his jacket, but, just as he reached for the handle, the door was ripped open in front of him so swiftly that he almost fell through it. Instead he leapt back in shock, stepping off the top step and Butler's hand shot out to grab him before he ended up in a pile at the bottom of the stone flight.

"Oh hey..." Harvey began, steadying himself. But the bodyguard wasn't listening.

"Have you seen Mrs. Fowl?" he demanded, yanking open the cloakroom cupboard and rattling through the coats until he found one of his.

"What? No - I literally just got back. You're the first person I've seen. Why? _Should_ I have seen her?" Harvey asked as he stood, dripping quietly, on the marble floor. It was really dark in the hallway, he realised. "What's with the lights?"

"Power-cut," Butler explained curtly. "The gates aren't open, are they?"

"Well yeah, the taxi just..." Harvey gestured after the tail-lights disappearing down the winding driveway.

Butler swore under his breath, zipping up the jacket and patting himself down for his gun. "Close them would you? Use the weight system while we've got no power. One of the guys is working on the generator now, so check the tapes of the upper corridors when the electric comes back on."

"Sure," the younger security-man frowned, utterly confused. "But what the hell is going on?"

"Mrs. Fowl's gone missing."

And with that, the bodyguard hooked the hood of his jacket over his head and started running for the open gates.

* * *

**Shorter chapter, sorry about that. But at least _(special shout-out to Steinbock)_ all the crossed fingers have not been in vain! Assuming the guy is someone we want it to be. Which I haven't actually said yet...**

**No, the man who washed ashore didn't do so after several days. It was the same day as the Fowl Star went down, but the Manor bit is a few days after. Just to clear that up.**

**So far the reviews have all been positive so I'm well chuffed. Just have to make sure the rest of it is worth the praise so far!**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Wolfy  
ooo  
**** O**

**05-06-12**


	9. It Never Rains, But It Pours

**Thanks to: _Sandd, 2whitie, Steinbock_ and _Crazy Female LEPrecon (x2)_ for the reviews!**

**WARNING: Craziness ensues. Also, Butler loses his cool a liddle bit, but I'll just let you read on and enjoy that :) **

* * *

**CHAPTER 9**

_**It Never Rains, But It Pours**_

**FOWL MANOR, DUBLIN, IRELAND, FOUR YEARS AGO - THE PAST**

_**Earlier**_

Artemis had been in his study, playing with the numbers on the family account when it happened. Although 'playing' would suggest that it was a jovial and pleasure-giving activity. This, was far from it. He was at the point of physically resorting to banging his head on the keyboard when a giant flash had blasted through the half-drawn curtains, followed almost immediately by a electrostatic _bang _and a tremendous booming of thunder so loud that it reverberated through his ribcage and made his heart dance in his chest.

Once he had recovered from the palpitation, he considered the fact that the ceiling light had gone out and he was now sat in semi-darkness. Not only that, but the charging light on his laptop had gone off. It was running on battery. So it wasn't just the electrical supply to the lights that had blown, then. He waited patiently for a few seconds for the back-up generator to kick in and, when nothing happened, sat confused for a few seconds more before leaving his room and crossing the hallway to the bannister.

"Butler?" he called. "Why hasn't the generator started?"

But although his voice echoed down to the lower levels of the house, no one answered. Irritated he set off with the intention of finding his bodyguard but paused at the top step. Mother never liked thunderstorms. Even when Father was around to comfort her, she would often end up in quite a state. And although he himself knew that the lack of electricity was a mere reaction of the safety system built into the manor's electricity supply, his mother, in her current state, may have been quite alarmed by it. He should check on her.

About-turning on the spot, he strode purposefully down the dim corridor. The last vestiges of the day's grey light lit the way through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Somewhere in his memory he remembered having a conversation with The Major, where the elder Butler had firmly explained to him why he was _never_ to stand in front of them for more than a few seconds at a time, even if he _did_ want to do an experiment dropping different substances from the first floor landing and measuring the 'splat' produced by the result.

He continued along his way, stopping at the door to his parents' room and taking a breath as he always did before knocking.

"Mother? It's me, Artemis. May I come in?" he called through the thick wood.

No answer.

"Mother?"

Still nothing. He strained his ears to listen for the increasingly, _nastily,_ familiar sounds of muffled sobbing.

But the room on the other side of the door was silent.

"Mother, I'm coming in," Artemis said loudly, opening the door forcibly and stepping over the vines on the carpet as he had always done.

He tip-toed forward, half expecting to find his mother sheltering under her duvet. But the bed, as far as he could tell, was empty. The covers had been thrown back carelessly, yet to be fixed by the maid.

"Mother? Are you in here?" Artemis called, hating how thin and childlike his voice sounded like in the high-ceilinged room. He coughed and marched around the bed to check the en-suit bathroom, forcibly ignoring the carpet patterning. But it too, was entirely empty.

Confused, he left the room as it was and closed the door. Perhaps she had gone downstairs. It would be a pleasant surprise to find her in the kitchen. Perhaps even - although this was ridiculously hopeful - baking something, as she occasionally did.

On the stairs once again, he almost collided with Juliet who ran past him, calling over her shoulder.

"Oh, sorry Arty. I'm just gonna grab a torch 'cause the generators screw... I mean broken. Butler just tried to start it up by hand and it proper zapped him one. He swore and everything. You shoulda seen it!"

"Ah, I did wonder why the ancillary system hadn't begun to restore the electrical supply yet," Artemis nodded. At least Juliet seemed a little brighter today, even if it did seem to be at her brother's expense.

"If you want him he's in the hall looking at the fuse-box with Bernie the lecky guy," she shouted over the bannister rail before she disappeared into her room, presumably in search of a torch.

Artemis sighed slightly. Maybe Juliet was a little less mature than he himself was, but he hardly thought a powercut was cause enough for all this excitement. He retraced Juliet's steps to the main hallway, where he found Butler. Another man Artemis recognised as the manor's onsite electrical technician was stood with him, trying to read a manual with a pencil torch clamped between his teeth.

"Hello, Butler," Artemis announced himself. "Have you managed to fix the problem?"

"Unfortunately not just yet, Master Artemis," Butler admitted. "We're having a few technical difficulties, it would seem."

"Yes, Juliet mentioned you'd been electrocuted," Artemis continued. "Well, the terminology she used was 'zapped' I believe, but I deduced she meant so."

"Well you deduced correctly," Butler said drily. "It did 'get' me and simultaneously fried some essential component we've yet to find, but we should have it up and running again within the hour."

"Excellent. As good as this will be for the electricity bill, I don't fancy spending the night without power."

"Well there's always candles," Butler shrugged.

Artemis looked at him as though he had suggested lighting the manor with glow-in-the-dark dog excrement and Butler continued.

"Is your mother alright?"

"I've just been to check on her but she wasn't in her room. I don't suppose you have an idea of where she might be?"

Butler shook his head slowly, contemplating as he did so. "I would suggest asking one of the maids. Although I thought she'd retired for the evening, sir."

"Yes, so did I," Artemis mused. "How peculiar."

Butler didn't think it was 'peculiar' at all. He thought it was downright worrying. But, as he didn't want to distress his charge, he simply nodded and offered him the torch. "Here, take this. I've got others."

Artemis took the torch, hefting the heavy object with two hands, and headed for the kitchen. Butler watched him go, trying to squash the sense of unease that was building up inside him.

"I reckon it's this what's blown," Bernie gestured to the diagram. "An' I dunno if we've the parts to fix it, really."

Butler rolled his eyes in the darkness. Why the Fowls employed so many people he would never know.

"So improvise."

"Improvise?" Bernie looked confused. "With what? I mean this is sorta specialised equipment here, mate. You can't just stick a bit o' KitKat wrapper in there and hope for the best..."

Butler blew air forcibly through his nose. Did he have to do everything around here?

"Look. Go to cupboard under the desks in the security room. There should be some fuses in there."

"Sure but they probably won't be the right..."

"Just go look," Butler growled at him, rapidly losing patience with the man. "Please."

The electrician flinched slightly and scurried away to look for fuses, leaving Butler to contemplate exactly _why_ the generator hadn't started up automatically in the first place.

He knelt down and traced back the connection wires in the tight space. If any one of the wires was disconnected, the generator wouldn't have received the order to start up. And if the safety cable was unattached, which would be stupid since having a disconnected generator defeated the objective of having one at all, then the sudden demand for electricity would blow the fuse immediately. As it just had done.

He reached into the depths of the cupboard, running his hand along the safety 'grounding' wire until he reached the end. Which, predictably, was not attached to anything. Then he scouted blindly for the wire that linked the generator to the system, only to find that it too, was completely unattached at one end.

_What kind of imbecile unhooks the secondary power supply? What complete and utter..._

"Hey bro, Arty says his mum isn't in her room..."

Butler pulled his head out of the cupboard, smacking it on the low door and growling to himself.

_Couldn't have had the generator put in in the basement, could you? No. It had to be in the cupboard under the main stairwell. Completely inaccessible unless you're some sort of sodding elf..._

He turned to see Juliet, armed with a torch with the power of a small sun... which she waved directly in his face.

"Juliet! Watch what you're doing with that, would you?" he grumbled at her. "And yes, he's already told me."

"Oh, right. Sorry," Juliet said, shining the torch lower and illuminating the cupboard. "Want me to help?"

"With the electric? No. I quite like my eyebrows the way they are, thanks," he muttered sarcastically.

"I meant help _Artemis_, actually," Juliet said, a little put-out. "You know, so you can get the lights back on without stressing about him somehow creating a 'situation' in the house?"

Butler calmed his temper and looked at her. It wasn't her fault that the _Fowl Star_ had gone down. It wasn't her fault that their uncle was dead. It wasn't her fault that on top of everything the lights had gone out. And it wasn't her who unplugged the generator and blew-up the primary fuse-box.

"Thanks, Jules," he said quietly. "I'm... I'm sorry I snapped at you. It's not your fault someone's unhooked the generator."

"You need to chill out, bro," she said, patting him on the head. "You're doing your best here."

"And yet everything is still turning to shit."

"Yeah, but it would be shittier without you, brother," she smiled at him sadly.

Butler grunted neutrally and she turned to go, then stopped.

"And you know..." she took a breath. "You know if uncle was here, he'd only be shoving your head further into the cupboard and swearing at you."

"Now that _is_ true," Butler agreed with a chuckle.

"Right. Well you get fixing that and I'll let you know when we find Mrs. Fowl," his sister said, heading off in search of the Fowls.

Butler watched her go and smiled slightly. She was becoming a right little Butler.

* * *

"We'll ask Arsehole if he's seen anything," Juliet said with false confidence. She had found Artemis almost immediately and together with the two high-power torches, they had search the manor top to bottom. Originally it had been almost fun, checking if any of the many maids, all sheltering together in the kitchen of their quarters like sheep, had seen her and exploring parts of the manor neither of them had been in in months. But the amusement soon dimmed when every maid answered with a polite 'no' and every door opened into an empty room.

"We'll ask who?" Artemis asked, frowning. "Did you just say we'll ask Ars..."

"Oh crap," Juliet groaned at her slip up. "Don't tell anyone I said that in front of you. I meant Harson. Family joke."

"_Family_ joke?" Artemis asked, almost smiling.

"I meant _my_ joke. Not Butler's or my unc... well. It's my joke, anyway," Juliet suddenly became morose again and they didn't speak until they found the head of security.

"Well she must be somewhere in the manor, young man," Harson said, tutting at him. "No need to fret, I'll just pan a few cameras around and find her for you shall I? Have you checked the library?"

"The cameras will not be working, Mr. Harson," Artemis said testily. "As I have already deduced from the lack of electricity."

"Of course, yes. Butler hasn't managed to get the back-up system running yet, has he?"

"Is that a dig at my brother?" Juliet growled. "Because he wouldn't have to mess with the generator if you hadn't unhooked it from the system in the first place."

"You Butlers. All the same," Harson laughed. "Always somebody else's fault, isn't it?"

"No. Not always. But in this case, yes, it is," said a voice from the shadows. "Problems, Master Artemis?"

"No, no problems," Harson snapped, recovering quickly from the shock of the bodyguard's sudden appearance.

"I wasn't asking you."

"Regardless," Harson continued blithely. "As I was just explained to the... ah... young master, his mother is probably just holed up with a book somewhere in the manor. After all, she'll hardly still be out on her stroll in this weather."

To be fair to Butler, his facial expression never changed. He didn't even ask Harson to repeat the statement. Although he didn't have to. Artemis did it for him.

"She will not be _where_, Harson?" Artemis asked, the 'wh' of 'where' being so over-pronounced that he almost whistled the start of the word.

"Well she mentioned in passing that she was going out to get some fresh air..."

"_'In passing'_ as in, as she was leaving the manor?" Butler clarified.

"Yes, as she went out of the door, why?"

"When?"

"About an hour ago."

"And you didn't think to mention that to me?" Butler asked, with deadly calm.

Right about then, Harson seemed to realise something was wrong, but he kept right on going.

"Why should I inform you?_ I_ am head of security around here and before you _start_ threatening to depose me again, I would remind you that you have no authority to..."

"He may not, but I do," Artemis snapped. "And if my mother is at all harmed, Mr. Harson, I will be holding _you_ personally responsible."

Harson paled slightly. "Well I'll summon the staff immediately. I'm sure someone knows exactly where she is..."

"Yes. Why don't you do that? While the rest of us do something useful," Butler reigned in the sarcasm-gene, breathing deeply through his nose.

"And what, exactly, do you plan to _do?_" Harson asked, folding his arms and bouncing on the balls of his feet.

_Completely open to an attack,_ Juliet noted, watching her brother for the almost non-existent signs that he was about to lash out.

"My job," Butler stated, heading down the stairs with the two children hot on his heels.

"Your job is being a child minder, Butler," Harson called after him. "A tattoo on your shoulder doesn't make you any more than that."

Butler ignored the jibe, but his charge paused at the top of the stairs.

"His job is to protect me and my family," Artemis said smoothly. "He should not have to do that within our own home. I was under the impression my father was against hiring imbeciles, but occasionally I do find myself mistaken."

Harson gaped at him, unable to form a response without getting himself fired immediately and Juliet couldn't resist filling in the silence.

"And as usual Arty's right. You're a flaming idiot, you know that? _I_ could run this place better than you do, let alone my brother."

And then the three of them were gone, leaving the man blinking stupidly and hoping he was right about the whole 'reading a book' thing.

"What are you going to do, Butler?" Artemis asked once they were out of earshot of the head of security.

"I'm going to do a sweep of the grounds whilst you two check the manor again. There's a chance she moved through an adjoining door and you just missed her."

"I want to come with you," Juliet said firmly.

"I think its best if you stay inside," her brother said, just as seriously.

It was practically raining horizontally outside and although normally their uncle would have leapt at the chance for some survival training, perhaps getting her to light a fire in the storm, today was not the day for playing about.

Juliet opened her mouth to protest, but Artemis placed a hand on her arm. "I'd really rather you helped me, if you would, Juliet."

Juliet sighed and squeezed her hand over his. "Alright Arty, if that's what you want."

Butler nodded at his charge over his sister's head in a silent thanks. He'd just managed to completely dissipate an entirely unnecessary argument.

"Harvey should be back soon anyway and I need you to let him know what's going on, OK?" Butler said to his sister. "Ring me if you find her inside."

"Will do," Juliet said as he left for the front door. "Come on, Arty. There's loads of places we haven't checked yet."

"She's my mother, Juliet. Not a cat. I hardly think she'll be hidden away in one of the airing cupboards..." Artemis said, a little testily. But his wide eyes betrayed his fear and Juliet tugged on his arm.

"Don't worry," she said firmly. "If she's outside, if anyone can find her, it's my brother."

"I know," Artemis said softly. "I know."

* * *

_**Later**_

Butler sprinted down the driveway. He had always hated sprinting. He was a long-distance runner by nature, but that wasn't to say he couldn't cover distance quickly when he needed to. And right now, he needed to make sure the perimeter was secured. It was bad enough Mrs. Fowl being out in this weather in the grounds. It could be catastrophic if she was lost in the rural land around it.

He reached the gates as they shut. At least Harvey had managed to get them closed. They did so on an entirely non-electric systems, for situations_ exactly_ like this. Hopefully the next thing the man would do would to be to send a team out after him to search the grounds. He probably should've mentioned that.

_No. The head of security should already have thought of that. Only he's an idiot with a qualification, so he probably won't..._

Butler suddenly realised that he had nowhere to start looking. Maybe she would be at the bench where she and Artemis Senior used to sit some nights, or the flower gardens she liked in the summer. For all he knew, she could be in the centre of the maze. Or worse still, not even in the grounds.

With nowhere to start, he set off around the wall at a steady jog around the wall, intending to run it in concentric circles.

Twenty minutes later he was soaking wet and no closer to finding his charge's mother. The rain was not helping matters. Any tracks Mrs. Fowl might have left on the lawns were fast becoming nothing but mush as he searched. Maybe Harson had been right. Maybe she _had_ gone back inside.

But there were still the three separate woodlands and the entire hedge maze to check and Butler was not about to trust the man's hunch over his own principals to keep going to the end.

Determined, people called it. Madam Ko would say different.

_'Determination is a strong will, student. **Stubbornness** is a strong won't. It appears to me, boy, that you have both. Congratulations.' _

Harvey had sent a team out after him, but with the darkness truly setting in, they were more of a hindrance than anything, making him trace sounds of movement, only to find one of the security men sheltered under a tree from the torrential rain and looking and a little sheepish.

_There has to be a quicker way of doing this..._

He ran through his mental list of tools and immediately fell upon the heat seeker guns. He could scan the grounds around him without having to check under every tree and hedge. He had spares too. Some of the better men could help search for heat signatures.

"Right you lot. Regroup inside," he yelled over the wind. "This isn't working. We need some equipment."

He turned back to the Manor and jogged quickly up the steps, the security team passing the message fuzzily over damp walkie-talkies.

Why the _hell_ he hadn't thought of this earlier, Butler didn't know.

Wrenching open the door, he shook like a dog and was just about to head up the stairs to the equipment store that held the heat-seekers when he noticed something.

A damp patch on the carpet.

He knew that couldn't have been made by him. He hadn't passed that point yet. He looked around. The rest of the men were only just coming through the door, complaining and peeling off sodden jackets.

Crouching, Butler touched the rug with the back of his hand. Definitely damp. Then again, so was his hand.

He flicked his torch back on, shining it over the darker patches on the carpet. Cautiously he followed the drips up the stairs, along the corridor and even up the third floor stairs, drawing his gun as a precaution. The trail led along a little-used corridor until it stopped abruptly. Butler was momentarily puzzled.

_Unless I'm was chasing rain monsters..._

Then a thought hit him and he flicked his gaze upwards. There, in the ceiling, a trapdoor beckoned. The normally polished gold of the handle was smudged with what he hoped was mud, rather than the alternative. He reached over to the wall, eyes not leaving the ceiling, and pressed the button that should have had the trapdoor opening automatically and the ladder descending. Of course nothing happened, since the electricity was still out. Grumbling in annoyance, he stretched up to see just how far off reaching the trapdoor he was.

Too far, unfortunately.

The ceilings were almost 12ft in this part of the manor. But the corridor was narrow... His brain calculated angles. It was just like one of the impossible challenges Madam Ko set them at the academy. Only nothing was impossible. He braced one boot on the wall, not caring about the fact that the wallpaper would probably have to be replaced after this manoeuvre, and pushed off until he had a foot on either wall and could grab the trapdoor handle.

He wondered how the hell anyone else would get up here. Unless, of course, they'd gone up _before_ the power-cut...

_In which case she's been up here the whole time and we've been running round the garden for no reason,_ his less-professional side complained.

_Or it's **not** Mrs. Fowl and you're about to stick your head into an ambush,_ muttered his bodyguard side.

Seriously hoping there were no hidden assassins in the attic, Butler pulled the trapdoor down and leapt out of the way as the ladder unfolded itself automatically. It rattled down noisily, so there went any stealth he could have used to his advantage. Muttering in annoyance, he secured it quickly and, before he could convince himself that this was a _really_ bad idea, began to climb into the darkness.

"Mrs. Fowl? Are you up here?" he called, trying not to imagine all the _other_ people who could possibly be hiding out in the attic and failing miserably.

Still, he had never been afraid of the dark and so, after a quick check that there was no obvious threat, he pulled himself up into the dusty darkness of the attic. The rain was louder here, but just above its pounding, he could hear another noise. A snuffling, choking noise. He moved towards it, slowly bringing up his torch to pave a spread of floorboards in front of him, his free hand twitching for his gun. He swapped the torch into his less-favoured shooting hand. Not that he couldn't shoot just as well with his left as he could with his right... It was just a precaution.

He was glad at least that the room had been considered originally as an extra bedroom and so the ceiling was not so low that he had to crouch.

"No. No leave me alone. Leave me alone!" a frantic voice cried and somewhere in the shadows, boxes crashed to the floor.

"Mrs. Fowl? Are you alright. Don't worry, I'm not here to hurt you," Butler inched forward, sweeping the torch back and forth until it fell on the sodden material of a nightdress. She must be freezing. If he didn't get her back down into the warmth of the main manor soon, she'd catch hypothermia. If she hadn't already, that was.

"I'm not a Mrs. Fowl. My name is Angeline. Who are you?"

"It's only me, Mis... Angeline," Butler said carefully. If she wanted to be referred to by her first name, he would do that. If it helped to get her out of the attic in one piece, then it was fine by him. If she still seemed a little insecure later, that could be dealt with.

"Major?" she asked shakily. "It's that you?"

At least she was close. To be fair, she often got them mixed up when she wasn't so... Was _confused_ the word?

"No. It's me, Butler."

"Who?"

Ah. This was_ not_ a good progression.

"Butler... The Major's nephew. I guard your son, remember?"

Something seemed to click and Angeline sat up suddenly. Her face shone pale and streaked with tears in the torchlight.

"Arty? My little Arty? Where is he? My poor baby he must be so frightened with this terrible storm we're having!"

_Well at least she knows Artemis, _Butler thought, wondering what was the best way to handle the developing situation.

"I can take you to him right now, if you'd like?"

"Yes, yes that would be excellent. Thank-you Major," she gabbled, scrabbling out from behind the boxes she had concealed herself behind.

"Butler," he corrected half-heartedly, before taking her arm and leading the way carefully.

Somehow they made it down the stairs and onto the landing where finally, with a deep humming sound, the lighting flickered on along the corridor.

_Couldn't have done that earlier, could it?_ Butler thought sarcastically, wondering who'd finally managed to get it working again.

"Oh. The lights!" the lady of the manor said, blinking blearily. "Butler? Why are you so soaked! Surely you haven't been out in this weather?"

Butler raised an eyebrow. She herself was soaked to the skin and covered in mud, but at least she was alive and altogether well. Or at least physically so. Mentally was beyond his jurisdiction. Not that that would prevent him from _trying_ to protect the Fowls from their own minds, but the physicality of the job was rather in the description of _body_guard.

_Still,_ he reminded himself._ Things could have gone a whole lot worse._

"Where's my little Arty?" Angeline asked when he didn't answer. She was smiling now, although it was more a crazed baring of her teeth and Butler looked at her concernedly.

"He's..." he began, but he was cut off by a cry.

"Mother! Where have you been?"

Artemis came racing down the corridor like the ten-year-old he was and into his mothers arms. He didn't know it would be the last time he hugged his mother properly for over two years and neither did she, but at that moment, neither cared.

Butler stepped away, giving his charge some privacy.

"Oh Arty, dear. Were you worried about me?"

"Yes, Mother," Artemis sniffed into her sodden nightie. "I suppose I was."

"Well you needn't be. It's all going to be alright, you see? Your father will return and then we'll have to have a celebration. A ball perhaps, do you think?"

"Yes, Mother. When Father returns," Artemis said, breaking away from the hug, his eyes downcast.

"He will return, Arty. I know it," Angeline said, her own shining brightly with hope and unshed tears.

"I know," Artemis said softly. "I know."

* * *

Once Mrs. Fowl was being seen to by her various maids, Butler went to speak to Harvey. Unfortunately, he found Harson along the way. Unfortunately for _Harson_, as it would turn out.

"See? Who was right, eh?" was his opening line. "You were all running around the garden like men possessed and where was she? In the manor. Just as I said."

Butler breathed deeply before he treated the head of security to a 'Butler-glare'.

"She would never have been missing in the first place if it wasn't for you. You broke protocol, Harson. And I don't give a shit who you think you are, you knew full well you should have told me she'd gone out. You should have sent her out with an escort and you shouldn't have disconnected the back-up generator."

"Are you going to blame the storm on me as well?" Harson said snidely. "Because we've already been through the whole 'Butlers-are-never-wrong', thing. That little sister of yours had to back you up, remember?"

Butler made as though to say something, then stopped and shook his head, chuckling to himself darkly.

_Don't waste your breath,_ he thought, walking passed him without making eye-contact.

"Hey! Don't you walk away when I'm talking to, boy," Harson yelled after him.

He should have known that when a Butler chuckles, anyone else should run for cover. He should have known not to push any more buttons on that stormy night. He should have known that calling him 'boy' one more time would never end well.

And so Butler finally snapped, spinning round lightening fast and bringing his hand, arm fully extended so that the distance from the pivot point of his shoulder to the point of impact was as far as possible, aiming for maximum force. Harson didn't even have time to bring up his arms to block the blur before the heel of Butler's palm struck his temple.

The man's eyes rolled back in his head and his knees buckled instantly.

Butler watched him hit the floor then walked away, feeling ultimately better about the whole situation.

With any luck, the man would wake up a few minutes later with no recollection of the incident. If not... well, it wasn't as if Harson could do much more to endanger the Fowls than he already was. Butler didn't even consider the qualified security man as any form of a threat.

Butler went on his way, whistling slightly to himself as he did. On the ground floor he found the man he'd actually been looking for.

"Butler have you seen Harson? Only I wanted to ask him about..."

"Ask me. I'll probably be able to help," Butler by-passed the question. No need for Harvey to know, despite the fact the younger man would likely happily propose a toast over the man's unconscious body. He realised he was practically grinned and controlled his features.

"R_iii_ght, OK..." Harvey wondered exactly what had Butler practically smiling, but decided that it was none of his business. "Well, it was just about the generator, it was disconnected but me and Bernie got it hook up again. I wondered if he knew why it was..."

"Yeah. He did it."

"Oh. Right," Harvey raised an eyebrow. "Because?"

"Because he's a dickhead, I would suggest," Butler as though it was obvious. "Although he probably has his own reason."

"Well, yeah," Harvey laughed. "But that too."

Butler allowed himself a smile, then turned back to the matter at hand.

"Thanks for doing the ID-ing for me," he said. "It was bad enough being here when Mrs. Fowl went missing. It would've been even worse if I'd have got back when you did."

"No problem," Harvey said honestly.

"Did you manage to get anything back?"

"Well I looked like you asked, but there were no weapons on his... on him," Harvey explained a little awkwardly. "But I did manage to get this back for you. I dunno if that's what you wanted but..."

Harvey dug into his pocket and brought out something, handing it over almost immediately.

"You did the right thing," Butler told him, turning the watch over in his palm.

"Oh good, 'cause I didn't know if you wanted him buried with it. We can send it back over if you want. I've got pretty pally with the mortuary guy over there..."

"No," Butler folded the watch into his fist and squeezed it, feeling the already shattered glass creak in his grip. "Cheers Harvey."

There was a bit of an awkward silence where Harvey considered for a second if Butler could do with a 'man-hug'...

Luckily he decided against it, and instead broke the silence with a gruff cough.

"Well, I'm gonna get an early night if that's alright? Jet lag and all that."

"Yeah. No problem. Take tomorrow off as well."

"Really? But Harson..."

"I'll deal with him."

"Thanks Butler," Harvey grinned, before he headed for his beckoning duvet.

Butler watched him go then headed for his own room. He would inspect the watch properly, make sure that it was definitely his uncle's. Then maybe, just maybe, he'd have to admit that he was on his own now. Other than Juliet of course. He'd give the watch to her after tonight. She'd appreciated it.

He ran a thumb over the broken face and sighed.

_I could've done with you sticking round a little longer,_ he thought.

Then he laughed to himself.

_And doubtless you'd have some choice words to say to me about thinking that._

* * *

**Confession: This chapter wasn't even written yesterday. But I felt something was missing so I wrote it. On the spot. Hence why it might not be as polished as some of my other chapters. Hopefully it isn't too bad though.**

**The _'Earlier'_ is before the end of the little snippet of this in the last chapter and the _'Later'_ is after it.**

**Extra 6000 or so words for you, anyway. Because I'm in a proper good mood today :)**

**The title is a random British saying meaning that bad things tend to happen all together, by the way.**

**By the way, what the chuffing-nora has happened to the screen layout of this place? Or is it only me that its centred the text for?**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Wolfy  
ooo  
O**


	10. Plan A

**Thanks to: _2whitie, Steinbock, Sandd, Crazy Female LEPrecon_ and _HolidayBoredom_ for the reviews.**

**WARNING: Flippin' heck I think I've actually got round to posting what could've been the second chapter, if I'm truly honest. Hope you enjoyed the nine chapter back-story :)**

* * *

**CHAPTER TEN**

_**Plan A**_

**DUBLIN AIRPORT, DUBLIN, IRELAND – PRESENT DAY**

Juliet Butler blinked the jetlag from her eyes and looked around for her brother. Anyone would think it would be easy to catch sight of the huge Eurasian, but Madame Ko taught them well in the art of remaining inconspicuous. Sure enough, since she knew where to look, she saw his profile, disguised against a pillar so as to negate the difference of his height to those around him.

She headed over to him and he acknowledged her, meeting her half-way.

"Hey, bro," she smiled, reaching up and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Butler patted her on the back slightly awkwardly. People stared enough at him as it was without drawing attention to themselves. When Juliet had been younger and suffering from a sprained ankle, he had slung her over his shoulder without a second thought and headed for the car as a steady jog. Of course, her hitting him and yelling at him to put her down had had a few well-meaning members of the public teaming up to try to stop the 'kidnapper'. If they had listened more carefully, they might've heard that the girl was yelling about being fine to walk on her own and that her ankle only collapsed if she put over 45% of her weight on it...

"Hey, sis," he returned, pushing her to arm's length and checking her over. No recent injuries stood out to his attentive 'big brother' eyes. "How are you?"

"Fine, ta. Little tired but hey-ho, ten hour flight to sleep on."

Butler nodded. "It leaves in about an hour. You wanting a brew or something?"

"That'd be awesome," Juliet grinned.

They walked together through the open building of the airport and ordered take-out cups of tea from the nearest café and somehow Juliet refrained from asking until they were sat in the departures lounge.

"So. This source… are they reliable, or is this probably just a wild goose chase?"

Butler felt a memory resurface at the end of the question. Artemis had used the phrase when they had been looking for fairies at the very start of all this. Butler almost began to wish they'd never taken Nguyen Xuan up on his offer. But then he would never have had the adventures or met the people he had.

_And you wouldn't be sat in an airport, waiting for a plane to take you to search for the charge you lost with your little sister who discreetly thinks you're losing your marbles…_ muttered his sarcastic side.

"Hey? Coo-ee? Anybody in there?"

_Scratch the 'discreetly'._

"No. I think it won't be. This guy rarely makes mistakes."

"Well, anything for an adventure with my big bro," Juliet grinned.

Her brother scowled. "It's not an_ 'adventure'_, Juliet. If anything, it may be a rescue mission."

"I know, thanks, _**idiota**_," Juliet muttered. "I was just trying to lighten the mood."

They both remained stubbornly silent, refusing to apologise to each other. But each knew the other was grumpy from lack of sleep and excess anxiety and so eventually Juliet reached up and tugged at the hat her brother was wearing. She had noticed the back of his neck had a little more shadow on it than usual.

"You growing your hair out?" she asked, interestedly. Her brother had never had more than a light covering of hair on his head the whole time she had known him, but she had seen the photos of him with a good crop of hair as a teenager in the months between the academy training. She could never decide if she liked it. The brotherly-side of him sort of suited him. But she had always known him as predominately the professional and any hair on his head had always seemed alien. Likely he had just not been shaving recently, rather than purposely letting it grow.

"Maybe," Butler shrugged. "It's cold in Russia."

And Juliet laughed at him and all was forgiven instantly.

Being related was good like that.

* * *

**MURMANSK, NORTHERN RUSSIA – PRESENT DAY**

Ten and a half hours later, they touched down in Murmansk and, after a short disagreement which Juliet invariably won, booked themselves into a small, rundown hotel near to the area Foaly had given him as Artemis's location.

"We all need to sleep, Dom. Even you. And even if you claim you don't, I'm knackered and you know what I get like if I don't get my beauty sleep, hmm?"

And so her brother had conceded. His sister was scarily like their mother sometimes. Odd, since she had barely known her, really.

They bedded down for the night in the twin room and slept. It was the best rest either of them had had in weeks, content in the knowledge that there was nothing that would get past either of them, even whilst they were asleep.

Even so, Butler was up early. Which was lucky, because Foaly rang him with more information.

"Morning, mudman," was the centaur's bright greeting.

"Anything new?" Butler said quietly, checking Juliet was still asleep.

She was, sprawled out on her bed and snoring quietly. He smiled slightly, closing the bathroom door and sitting on the edge of the bath. It was plastic and creaked ominously, but it held.

This time Foaly ignored the lack of manners. "Only that we still don't have word on Holly, but this version of Artemis Fowl is a worker on the docks. Fisherman. Living… _here,_" Foaly sent the links to an online map to Butler's phone. "You reckon Arty would even touch fish guts?"

"Seems unlikely," Butler shrugged. "But if he's had forty-odd years to retrain himself, then maybe."

"And in case you're wondering, no. The mudboy didn't find himself a Russian lady, although there are another two males living with him. Unrelated to him, from our records. But living in the same house. You might want to look out for that," Foaly explained. "How are you planning to do this?"

"If it's him, I doubt he'd mind the visit. If it's not, it'll simply be a misunderstanding."

"Fair enough, though I suggest you go at night. The house is mostly empty during the day."

Butler ground his teeth slightly in annoyance. It was barely dawn. They'd have to wait. But that could turn out alright. Get a surveillance post set up, see that they weren't walking into some sort of trap. He wouldn't put it past some of his enemies to lure him in this way.

"Understood. Thanks for the info."

"No problem," Foaly said, sincere for once. "And Butler?"

"Yes?"

"I hope it's him."

"Me too," muttered the bodyguard as he hung up. "Me too."

* * *

_**Later**_

The fish market was as busy as ever.

Art and Zory had had a good day's fishing. They would have enough to sell and for the table. A good thing now that Zory's grandfather, Aramazd, had been forced to stop working. Arthritis, mostly. And since Art was there to help now, he felt as though he could. Zory was nearly sixteen now, determined to help them in any way he could. Alone, even for someone as big as Art, it would be difficult to man the small fishing boat they had and so Zory was a welcome pair of extra hands.

Over the past four years, Art had earned his place in the family and Aramazd often secretly wondered how they ever got by without him.

It had been a long morning of fishing and a long afternoon's bartering for the best prices, but they had eventually struck a good deal. They might not need to go fishing for a whole week.

"_**Boat needs a new rudder cable,"**_ Art grunted. _**"You think Kazoi will have something for us?"**_

"_**Course he will. What **__**doesn't**__** Kazoi have?"**_ Zory laughed, mood lightened from their rare good fortune.

"_**True."**_

The pair, one huge, one small, made their way to the mechanics and, after some negotiation, bought a rudder cable. It took the rest of the afternoon to fit, working together with four years' worth of teamwork.

Art did most of the work, dredging up some hidden knowledge, as he often did. This time it was boat mechanics. Another time it might be first aid. It was always useful, the things he managed to remember. But it was never anything of vital importance.

Zory handed him the tools, watching intently. He had every intention of studying to become a doctor. But the education fees were high. And they were poor. He needed all the knowledge he could get in case his first career choice didn't work out.

The angle was awkward and, really, _The Cormorant_ should have been pulled from the water for a job like this. But that would take time and they would have to hire a trailer and possibly man-power to pull her out. Wasted money when Art could fix it without the hassle. Apparently he'd done it before, but he couldn't for the life of him remember where or when.

He leant down into the engine-hold and twisted a screwdriver around, prepping the cable-housing for the new one.

"_**Pass me the new one… Zory,"**_ he asked, holding his arm back at an awkward angle to grab the cable. A boat leaving the harbour sent a wave slamming into the side of the boat and for some reason, he had almost called Zory an entirely different name. He nearly called him… but then it was gone, leaving only the annoying frustration of a blank mind.

Zory noticed him freeze, knowing instantly what was happening to his friend. Flashbacks affected him a lot. Sometimes at really bad moments too. Such as one that had ended with him going overboard when he froze as the fishing boat's crane arm had swung towards him, fully loaded and crashed into him, forcing Zory to take control the boat and turn it round to pick him up again. It hadn't been funny at the time, but when they relayed it to Aramazd, he had brought quite a coughing fit upon himself laughing at the pair of them.

This time, Art froze with his arm bent back at the angle that must've triggered the memory, or maybe it was the sentence, or the fixing the rudder cable. Whatever it was, the big man was locked in his own memories and Zory could only wait until he 'woke up' again.

"_Pass me the new one, boy!" he roared, the waves crashing against the side of the boat and spinning them even further out of control._

"_Here," a face too in shadow for him to see forced the cable into his hand. "And I found a screwdriver. Should be easier than using a knife."_

"_Good lad," he told him. If he could get this fixed, at least they could steady the boat, then maybe they could start to plot a course back to shore. In this weather, simply having control at all would be a good start. How even a simple fishing trip could turn into a life-threatening situation, he didn't know. The weather reports had been certain the tail end of the hurricane would miss them entirely, yet here they were, barely staying afloat on a raging sea like a bottle- cap in a blender._

"_Do you need a hand?" the other asked, handing him a pencil torch._

_He put it between his teeth and spoke around it. "I can manage. Go see to the Fowls. My Artemis won't want yours spewing all over the cabin but the last thing we need is them deciding to make a trip above deck and going overboard."_

"_Yes, Uncle," the younger man said, disappearing back up the steps._

_He turned back to the task at hand. Fortunately, Ko had taught them a lot more than basic mechanics back at the Academy…_

Art blinked. Back in the present. The feelings lingered slightly, accompanied by a burst of adrenaline that made his hands shake momentarily. He rolled his shoulders, throwing the feeling and continued working on the rudder cable without commenting on the incident. But of course, Zory had noticed.

"_**Art? You alright?"**_

"_**Fine. Just a flashback."**_

"_**Anything interesting?"**_

"_**Not particularly. Something to do with me fixing a rudder cable of another boat. The names Artemis and Fowl came up again."**_

"_**Was… was your nephew there?" **_Zory asked a little tentatively. Sometimes Art got annoyed when he asked too many questions and would start muttering in English about 'kids today' and 'The Academy'.

But eventually, once they go to know eachother, Art had told Zory about the boy, or man, who appeared in most of his flashbacks and who would call him 'Uncle'. He never saw his face properly. He had never seen the faces of any of the people in his memories. A few times there had been a little boy who called him a name Art could never remember when he 'woke-up' again. Something army-like. A rank, perhaps. Not his true name, though. But for some reason Art thought that the person wasn't supposed to know his real name. Other times a raven-haired man would call him the same. Perhaps it was even the same person at different times in his life. And then, more than just once or twice, there had been a young girl who also called him 'Uncle'.

His worst flashback had come the night after a fishing boat had been lost at sea. He had awoken in the darkness yelling and shouting and, even though he had completely dismissed it later, with his face damp with tears. According to Zory, who had entered his room armed with a hunk of wood from the fireplace, expecting to find him being attacked, he had been shouting in English – a language he barely used nowadays unless selling to tourists, and Murmansk was not so popular on that front. Aramazd, quite deaf in his old age, hadn't woken early enough to decipher what he was saying and the only word Zory could repeat with confidence was that Art had been shouting for 'Beck', whatever that was. None of the definitions in his grandfather's English-Russian translation book had made any sense. Why would Art have been shouting about a 'small river'?

"_**Yes, he was there," **_Art admitted. _**"Handing me tools and things. Just like you are now."**_

Zory smiled at that – being compared to Art's mysterious nephew. He had long since begun to consider the stranger to the village as the uncle he had never had, or the father he had never known. And to be compared to a family member, or at least an ex-family member, was quite an honour for the boy.

"_**You were in a boat again?" **_he asked, interestedly.

"_**Yes, being around the sea seems to bring back memories."**_

It was true. He hardly ever had flashbacks anywhere else. Although once he had resurfaced from one laughing. The boy that called him something to do with the army had been attempting to cook in this one and apparently, Zory's rather ill-fated attempt at soup-making had triggered the recall.

Originally they had hoped that on his second awakening on the first day, he would at least remember his name, maybe more. As it happened he had woken on the _second_ day with, if possible, even less memory of who he was, where he had come from or anything else to do with his life before he had washed ashore and Zory had found him.

Immediately he had been certain that 'Artemis' was not his name. But they had nothing else to call him. Still 'Artemis' seemed far too posh a name to call the tough, rugged, life-worn man before them. It had been Zory that had decided on the name 'Art'. Short and simple. Still, it took a while for the man to react to it as his new name, like a rescue dog that had been given a new one. For some reason he reacted to other names or words, often ones beginning with 'M', but they could never work out exactly what triggered it and so the name 'Art' stuck.

They finished the repairs and walked home, Art lugging their share of the night's catch and the money they had sold the rest for, Zory bringing one of their best nets and other things they didn't want to leave in the less-than-secure fishingboat.

"_**Good trip?"**_ Aramazd asked them as they stomped snow off their boots and left them by the front door.

"_**Brilliant, actually, Grandpa,"**_ Zory told him, starting to pack away their haul. _**"And we fixed the rudder-cable. Gave Art a flashback though."**_

"_**Really? Anything interesting, Art?"**_

Art grunted non-committally, but Zory filled in for him.

"_**Nothing new. Except that at some point in his life he's fixed another boat's rudder-cable."**_

_**"Is that true Art?"**_

Art shrugged. He rarely liked to talk about his lost life._ **"In the middle of a storm, I think. At least that's what it felt like."**_

"_**Why am I not surprised, man?"**_ Aramazd laughed._** "You seem to have done everything in that old life of yours."**_

"_**Perhaps. But I don't remember it," **_Art tried to smile, but whenever he thought long enough about his past life, he felt angry at the loss. He was sure that the memories were there. They were just locked away. Not having full control of his mind left him feeling frustrated, despite the fact that he knew he was lucky to have survived the injury that had caused the massive, dented scar in his skull, at all.

"_**You haven't had any flashbacks about being an astronaut yet," **_Zory chipped in helpfully.

That brought an approximation of a true smile to Art's face and Aramazd laughed again as they settled down to their evening meal. From outside, too far away to make out anything but their silhouettes on the curtains, two people watched.

* * *

The rest of the day had been spent by the two Butlers, staring through the eyepieces of binoculars at the addresses Foaly had given them for the residence of 'Artemis Fowl'. Unfortunately for them, by the time two of the males returned to the house they were watching, it had been too dark to see them properly.

"Now what?" Juliet asked. "We just wander on down there and say, 'Hey, do you know where Artemis Fowl is?'"

"Well that's Plan A," Butler muttered.

"That smaller one could've even _been_ him for all we can see up here."

Butler _'hmm'_-ed thoughtfully. Foaly had said Artemis should be older. Yet the larger man had seemed too big to be any age of Artemis and the smaller one had seemed a lot more likely. Of course there was the chance that this was all a mix up. A coincidence of names. But Butlers never liked to rely on coincidences.

"We might as well get closer. Like you said, it's hard to tell from up here."

They stood in unison and brushed down the dust off their clothes. They had been hiding in the third floor of an old factory, perfectly positioned to watch the house and anyone who entered or left it. As it was, they had only seen an old man stumble out with a bag of rubbish around midday. He had gone back inside almost immediately and they hadn't seen him since. Butler had watched him like a hawk, but he looked nothing like his charge and was far too old, even with the forty-or-so years Foaly thought would be added by the time-tunnel trip.

"You know, I think the boy might've been him, Dom. I really do. From what I could tell, dark hair, slight build… the only thing I could think that it couldn't be him for is that he was carrying all that stuff…"

Juliet was trying to be optimistic and keep her brother hopeful, but really, why wouldn't Artemis have tried to contact them? It didn't seem like he was kidnapped. But who knew how the people were treating him. He seemed alright though. Maybe he had even managed to get a bit fitter, gained a few more muscles, than he had been before he had disappeared. Or at least that's what it looked like from a distance.

They made their way down the fire escape they'd climbed up earlier and dropped silently into the street. Then they shouldered their packs and stepped out onto the pavement, silent as shadows. If ever there was a time to be apprehensive, this was it. But, being Butlers, they didn't show it.

And then, so suddenly that Juliet nearly winded herself, Butler flung out an arm to stop her in her tracks.

Any normal teenage sister might've hit her brother for the incident and exclaimed loudly. But Juliet was far too well trained for that. Butler turned and began to walk along the path instead of crossing the road.

"Just keep walking," he muttered. "Don't look at the house. Just walk."

And, thankfully, Juliet was also too well trained to submit to the urge to spin round for a glance at the building they had been heading for. Or at the blacked-out 4x4 that had pulled up, just round the corner from it.

* * *

**Well, I know that was shorter, but I hope it's a good thing I've finally got back round to the actual story haha :)**

**Won't be another update till Monday probably so hope you enjoyed that one,**

**Wolfy  
ooo  
**** O**

**08-06-12**


	11. Best Laid Plans

**Thanks to: _Shadow914, Sandd, Crazy Female LEPrecon, Steinbock, 2whitie_,_ Shadow Huntress _and_ Fowl Star 57_ for the reviews and to _Shadow914_ again for the alert.**

**WARNINGS: Bit of swearing, as usual.**

**Sorry for the cliffie but it's gonna keep hanging a little longer!**

* * *

**CHAPTER 11**

_**Best Laid Plans**_

**LENIN PROSPEKT, MURMANSK, NORTHERN RUSSIA, TWO YEARS AGO - THE PAST**

Mikhael Vassikin poured his partner Kamar another shot of vodka. To be fair, the majority of it flooded the glass and overflowed onto the mahogany table. But hey, they were celebrating. Of course, there wasn't much to celebrate, what with the younger Fowl messing up their plans and the _Menidzher_ being less than pleased that he had escaped unharmed meaning they did not get the promotion they had been promised. Still, they had both come out of the other end alive, and the ransom had been found and delivered to Britva. All five million dollars of it.

"_**Well, here's to not having to see that Irlanskii's ugly face ever again,"**_ Vassikin laughed, clinking glasses with Kamar and downing his shot.

"_**And to, once he realises that we still got the ransom, a promotion from the boss!"**_

"_**Urgh,"**_ Vassikin grunted._** "That I doubt. Still, we're alive and Fowl is not."**_

There was a hammering on the door that interrupted Kamar's appraisal of that statement.

"_**Get that, Mikhael."**_

"_**Why do I have to get it?"**_

"_**Because I'm the brains of this outfit, which makes you the brawn."**_

_**"I still don't see..."**_

_**"Just get the goddam door, Mikhael."**_

**_"Huh._**** I think I agree with the Fowl boy," **Vassikin grunted.** __****"You are a little rat."**

"_**Fat imbecile,"** _Kamar countered.

The door rattled in its frame again.

"_**Alright, alright!"**_ Mikhael shouted, craning his bulk off the old sofa and stomping over to the door. Before he had even fully opened it, a man burst in, panting slightly. Kamar drew a gun quickly but relaxed once he had seen who it was.

"_**Jesus, Lyubkhin,"**_ he snapped. _**"You scare shit in me."**_

"_**Your shit is least of your worries. Have you heard the news? You should be scared for the rest of your guts."**_

"_**Why? What is it? What's happened?" **_Vassikin shut the door.

"_**The money," **_Lyubkhin yelled at him. _**"The money Fowl left is gone."**_

"_**What? Stolen? What idiot would dare steal from the Menidzher?"**_

"_**No. Not stolen. Vanished."**_

"_**Vanished?"**_ Kamar repeated dumbly.

"_**Magic,"**_ Vassikin breathed. _**"I told you Kamar! The boy has powers!"**_

"_**I told you already. Fairy stories, Mikhael! Pull yourself together."**_

"_**Powers or no, you should still be worried. Word up top is Britva is blaming you two," **_Lyubkhin told them seriously, hooking the near-empty alcohol bottle and downing it in one slug.

"_**What? How can he blame us? We delivered the money 48 hours ago. We took none of it! Not a single note!" **_Vassikin protested.

"_**No. But you did let Fowl go."**_

"_**He said that was fine…"**_

"_**When he had the money," **_Lyubkihn finished. _**"Now without it, he wants him dead."**_

"_**When will it end?" **_Kamar groaned.

"_**I suggest you prepare yourself for a call from the Menidzher. And I don't think it will be for a promotion."**_

Mikhael looked at his partner. They had two choices, obey or die. There was no running from the boss of the Mafia.

This Fowl business was far from over.

* * *

**MURMANSK, NORTHERN RUSSIA – PRESENT DAY**

It had taken a long time.

Almost two years ago today they had received the phone-call Lyubkhin had warned them of. Unfortunately for Vassikin and Kamar, Fowl was as slippery a character as his father. They didn't want to confront the miniature criminal mastermind on his home turf and when away, he barely stayed still for more than a day, disappearing to countries all over the world at entirely unpredictable moments. He flitted from Ireland like the cross-hair of a nervous sniper and, much to Kamar's annoyance, his partner's stories of the boy being located all over the world in the same day seemed only to be confirmed by their own tracking work. For example, he had travelled to Munich, only to vanish entirely from their radar, just when they were about to pounce on him and his single bodyguard. Of course, the bodyguard in question was a Butler, but the year previous he had been in a fight with another businessman's security team that had left him for dead. They didn't understand how the man was back to being fighting fit, or how he had sent his supposed murderer gibberingly confessing himself into a life sentence for various charges. Either way they didn't want to risk going up against him single-handedly.

Vassikin, again, suspected magic.

Kamar suspected it was another Butler. They all looked the same anyway.

And then, entirely unexpectedly, the Fowl boy had vanished off the face of the earth.

The pair had been happy. Surely he was dead. Where else would be? Britva had not been so pleased. He wanted proof. Photographs of a body at the very least. In his mind, the boy had heard of the Mafia's interest in him and decided to conceal himself. He had ordered them to search for him. Any little mention. The boy had been missing barely three months when they had finally caught chance word of one 'Artemis Fowl', possibly living under the pseudonym of Zoridon Kochanski - in Murmansk of all places!

The audacity of the boy. Hiding under their very noses, perhaps in the hope that they wouldn't look so close to home. But then there was the chance that he was taunting Britva. And nobody who taunted the Menidzher lived to boast about it.

Either way, here they were, sat in their stolen BMW 4x4 outside a house that supposedly contained the boy they had been chasing for two years. The team who had been watching the building informed them that there were two other men with him. One, an old native, was possibly a part of the disguise. And the other could possibly be the infamous Butler, although their Irish intelligence assured them that he was still in the country. Absent from the Fowl's residence, currently, but then again he was a harder man to track even than his charge.

"_**Ready?"**_

"_**I have been ready for a year and a half, Mikhael. Give the order**_ **_already,"_** Kamar grumbled irritably.

"_**Alright, alright," **_muttered Vassikin, pressing the button on the communicator. _**"Let's move in, men."**_

* * *

The blacked-out 4x4 idled for a few seconds, then the doors opened and a pair of darkly clad men stepped out, followed by others striding purposefully from the shadows and slinking towards the house. They were good.

_Mafia good, _Butler thought, his muscles tensing.

He _had_ always thought they'd gotten away far too easily with the whole 'false-money' thing. But his job had been to fire the shot. And he had. Perfectly, of course. Although he'd like to think that he had a bit more nous than the average hired chunk of muscle, that was, in essence, what he was and so he left the more complicated aspects of plotting to Artemis and geniuses like him. And, when discussed, Artemis had admitted that had simply thought that Foaly had sorted it out for them somehow and told his bodyguard to stop being so paranoid.

This situation might have nothing to do with the kidnapping and ransom of Artemis Fowl Senior, or it might have everything. Depending on whether the boy, or man, was Artemis Fowl Junior.

Butler had only seen the men himself as he and Juliet had rounded the corner, but it had been enough to have him on high alert immediately.

Within seconds, they reached an entrance to an alleyway, little more than 100 metres from the house and Juliet managed to tilt her head enough to use her peripheral vision to see what had made Butler change course so suddenly. And what had managed to flick the switch between him simply being her big brother a few seconds ago and practically bodyguarding her as he was now.

The men were moving like professionals and Juliet didn't like the way some of their hands were straying to their belts as they surrounded the house and its unsuspecting occupants, slinking like deadly shadows towards the building.

To her right, her brother checked the alley was clear of everything but rubbish and pulled out his binoculars, crouching by an overflowing bin and scanning the area around the house.

"They've got it surrounded," he muttered, just so that he was sure that she definitely knew. She probably did, and he never would have bothered speaking if he had been with anyone other than her. Anyone he was protecting didn't _need_ to know what was going through his head and anyone fully trained as he was would already have seen the situation arising, as he had.

"What do you reckon? Someone getting here before us?" Juliet asked, following suit and sweeping her gaze across the street. "What are we going to do?"

Butler was silent. If there was perhaps even half a chance that his charge was in the house… he was willing to at least _attempt _to rescue him from whatever was about to happen. But even with Juliet by his side, they couldn't possibly hope to go up against the Mafia and come off better.

With his uncle, perhaps they would have risked it for any of the Fowls. But there were at least eight men at his counting and although Butler alone could take on so many untrained opponents without breaking a sweat, these men weren't your average layabouts. Why they were suddenly after Artemis now, he didn't know, but he never liked to rely on coincidences. Something was going on here.

"Maybe we should just go. I don't think that lad was Arty anyway and whatever this is, we should probably at least _try_ not to get involved," Juliet continued when he didn't answer. "Looks like trouble."

"Agreed," Butler muttered.

_Then again, we've never been ones for avoiding trouble..._

He pocketed the binoculars and slid his hand absently into the Russian overcoat he was wearing.

"Dom?" Juliet asked tentatively, eyeing the straying hand and knowing exactly what it was reaching towards, hidden in its shoulder-holster under the jacket. "You're not thinking of going in there, are you?"

"They haven't gone in yet. Likely they're waiting either for someone to go out, or for them to go to sleep."

"Or they're just _about_ to go in and we should call some authorities before things get messy."

"We could go over there, like we're friends of the residents. Least they'll have some protection when whoever these people are decide to go in."

"What? We go chap their door and say 'Oh hello there, you probably don't know us, but there's some weirdo's outside your house, you see and we thought we'd give you a hand?'" Juliet said sarcastically. "What can we do? It's not as though us being there will help anything, anyway."

Butler broke his gaze from the house to look at his sister quizzically.

"What? Just because I'm being the paranoid, over-cautious one now?" she asked, thumping him on the arm.

"Maybe you should try again for your diamond," her brother shrugged. "You're actually finally starting to think like one."

"Well maybe I could just have yours," she retaliated. "Since _you_ don't seem to be acting like one."

"Ouch. Well, that hurt," he muttered, going back to his watching.

And it did. More than he let on.

"I'm sorry," Juliet mumbled after a few seconds. "I didn't mean it like that. It's just… you make me nervous when you start contemplating stuff I'd do. _I'm_ the one who's supposed to come up with the idiotic plans and then _you're_ supposed to come up with the better one."

Butler straightened up. "I know, I know. Alright then. We'll just take a walk down the street and see if anyone reacts. If they don't, we'll keep walking. At the end of the road there's a police station."

"And if they do?"

"Then… well, I suppose then we'll just have to improvise."

"Imaginatively?" Juliet grinned like a hungry wolf.

"Imaginatively," Butler nodded, returning the gesture.

And forget the infamous plotting-Fowl vampire smile, for it had nothing on the smirk of a Butler with a plan.

* * *

"_**There are people in the street,"**_ one of the men muttered into the mouthpiece of his walkie-talkie.

"_**So? They are taking a night-time stroll. None of our concern. Do not get distracted and hold position,"**_ Kamar hissed.**_ "Team two - update."_**

"_**Targets located. Rear of the building. Kitchen. They are sat down to eat, I think," **_another of the team informed him.

"_**Excellent. Shall we join them for dinner?"**_

Kamar looked around again. The walkers were gone. Disappeared into the night and, to be honest, they would be no trouble if they hadn't moved on. Likely they were locals anyway and every person in the country knew not to mess with Mafia business.

"_**Is everyone in position?" **_he asked into the radio.

Affirmations came from the other six men surrounding the residence.

**_"So, do you want to knock, or should I?"_** asked Vassikin.

"_**Be my guest,"**_ sniggered Kamar.

* * *

Art, Zory and Aramazd had barely finished their first helpings of the stew the old man had left to simmer all day, when there was a knock at the door. Aramazd sighed. He was more than a little 'old-school' and an interruption to dinner was more than an annoyance. It was downright bad manners to leave a dinner table before the meal was finished.

"_**I'll get it,"**_ Zory said, standing up switly.

Art stopped with his fork half-way to his mouth. _**"Wait."**_

He was listening. A soft thud of snow sliding off the slanted roof had piqued the interest of some hidden creature deep inside him.

_Danger, _it warned. _Danger. Protect the principle._

Art had no idea what a principle was, but when he looked at Zory, he felt it had something to do with his perpetual need to protect him. From the bullies at school, from the men at the docks, from… well, everything really.

"_**I'll go," **_he said firmly.

"_**Why?"**_ Zory frowned.

"_**Just… I'll get it,"**_ Art said as calmly as he could. Something was wrong. A long forgotten part of his brain was thrumming with the threat of it.

His chair scraped back over the tiled floor with magnified volume.

_Get your gun,_ something told him. _Now._

Art was confused at that. He hadn't even_ thought_ of any of using any of the array of weaponry he had turned up with all those years ago. In fact, other than the knives, he hadn't seen the stuff in years. He'd even sold some of it when times had been tough. But as he stepped towards the front door he paused, opening the cupboard under the stairs and laying his hand on the shoebox on the shelf. He prised the dusty cardboard lid off gently and picked up an item wrapped carefully in cloth. It had lain there for five years - dormant. Waiting patiently for him to come to his senses and carry it with him everywhere once again.

He had no idea if it would work, but heaven knew it had had the time to dry out. He checked the clip entirely automatically, hands working separately to his brain.

Whoever was at the door knocked again, more forcefully.

"_**Art? Who is it?"**_ Aramazd asked, breaking his own rule and standing-up stiffly.

Art put a finger to his lips. "_**I don't know. But I have a bad feeling…"**_

"_**You opened your box!"**_ Zory gasped. _**"Do you think it's someone from your past?"**_

"_**Could be. Just… just stay in the kitchen, please."**_

He crossed the room and opened the porch door, slipping his feet into his boots and reaching for the outside door. A third knock and, checking over his shoulder that Aramazd and Zory were following his instructions, he brought his hand down on the handle, and pulled open the door.

* * *

**Dundun_duh_!**

**I know, I know, another cliffie, but the next chapter is fast-paced and hopefully worth the wait!**

**Well, the ball has really started rolling and things will be happening very quickly indeed in the next few chapters compared to what it's been like for the past chapters.**

**And yes, I know that as it is meant to be their language (Russian) and not a translation, Kamar would probably not say _'you scare shit in me'_, but I watched my pretty-much all-time favourite film last week and it reminded me of the quote and so I had to put it in there. Anyone know what it's off?**

**Hope you're still enjoying reading it as much as I'm enjoying writing it,**

**Wolfy  
ooo  
O**


	12. Mistaken Identity

**Thanks to: ****_Crazy Female LEPrecon, Sandd, Shadow Huntress, Fowl Star 57, Holiday Boredom, 2whitie_ and _Steinbock _for the reviews - you're all ace!**

**WARNINGS: Bit of swearing and bit of violence. Nowt too bad though really... in my opinion.**

**Apologies for the wait for the update.**

**Unusually for this fic, the start of this chapter leads straight onto where we left off on the last one so, without further ado, onwards!**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

_**Mistaken Identity**_

The door opened so swiftly that Kamar almost fell through it. Recovering himself quickly, he stared down the behemoth on the other side of the threshold as best he could and spoke in his best 'Mafia' voice.

"_**I'm here for Artemis Fowl."**_

"_**Yes?" **_the man stated.

Kamar didn't think that was much of an answer to his statement, so he decided to clarify what he meant.

"_**Where is he?"**_

"_**You're speaking to him,"**_ Art told the two men standing outside the house.

"_**Ha! Hear that? He say he is Fowl. Him!"**_ Kamar appealed for a laugh from his audience. Mikhael chuckled slightly but the man in front of him remained stonily silent. The others of his team were currently securing the exits and were supposed to be hidden, and so laughter from them would have been highly punishable._** "I am not a man with whom you may joke, sir. Now, tell me. Where is the boy?"**_

"_**The only boy living here is called Zoridon Kochanski. My name is Artemis Fowl,"**_ the man said, frowning.

Kamar sighed. _**"Fine. I have asked politely, but now we must resort to the hard way."**_

He drew a gun swiftly and pointed it at the man. Although very surprisingly, it was not _nearly_ swiftly enough and he found himself staring down the barrel of his opponent's before any of them had even registered the man's hand snapping to his waistband and back.

He might not remember his past life, but his subconscious did and the muscles retained the memory of many thousands of hours of training. In actuality, it has been suggested that, like working dogs such as Border Collies, bodyguarding is a trait passed down through the generations in the very genes of the family he came from. Natural. Instinctive. Skills present from birth that need only be polished throughout life to perfect them.

Kamar couldn't hold back a gasp of surprise, but he quickly swallowed it as Vassikin backed him up.

"_**Whoever you are, it won't matter very soon. Allow us to search the house and no-one will come to any harm."**_

Art stared at the man before him with some degree of distain. _**"You're not coming in."**_

"_**Fine,"**_ Kamar said coolly. _**"Vassikin? Give the order."**_

Had his conscious mind been aware of his training, Art might've thought to shoot the man before he gave 'the order' into the walkie-talkie. As it was, Vassikin shouted so loudly that most of thethe men heard him without electronical aid and Art took his eyes off the two men at threatening to come through the front door.

Although with good reason to.

The back door seemed to implode, smashing inwards under the attack of a small two-man battering ram. The holders stepped aside and another man burst through it, quickly followed by several others, all bellowing orders and brandishing guns.

Aramazd was thrown back into his chair and Zory was grabbed round the mouth and waist, secured roughly in one of the larger men's arms.

"_**Nobody move! We're taking the boy. Do I have to kill you to make you understand that attempting to stop us would be futile?" **_Vassikin yelled, silencing his men instantly.

Art knew he was at a disadvantage, but he couldn't help thinking there must be _something_ he could do.

"_**You!" **_Kamar snapped._** "Put the gun down or we kill the old man."**_

Art looked at the stranger and realised he wasn't simply threatening. They'd kill them all without a second's thought. He dropped his gun grudgingly, cushioning the blow with his foot so as not to dent it. The action felt familiar.

_Too familiar, idiot,_ some part of his mind grunted sourly. _You've let this happen before, haven't you?_

"_**Good," **_Kamar said smugly._** "Now let little Master Fowl come quietly and we might let you all live."**_

He strode past Art, leaving Vassikin watching the man, and stood in front of Zory.

"_**Now then young sir,"**_ he sneered sarcastically, cupping the boy's chin mockingly in one hand. _**"Seems to me you are overdue a little chat with the Menidzher."**_

"_**I don't know what you mean," **_choked Zory, grabbing at the hand helplessly._** "I'm not Artemis! He is! He's Art! He's Artemis Fowl!"**_

"_**Oh spare me the drama, Irlanskii," **_Kamar rolled his eyes._** "Come on. We're leaving, men."**_

The men began to file out of the narrow doorway, Vassikin not taking his gun off Art for even a second. He had a horrible feeling the man was familiar to him. An old target? An old enemy? He was making him uneasy, whoever he was.

_**"Kneel down,"**_ he ordered sharply. **_"And put your hands on your head."_**

Art didn't have a choice but to comply and so formulated a plan that once he was on his knees, he would go for his gun, lying just out of reach on the floor. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to actualise this, as Vassikin hit him with a karate-chop to the side of the neck. This didn't, as it was supposed to, knock him out. But Mikhael Vassikin was used to fighting and the knee to the jaw that followed actually did. Art slumped against the stairs, unconscious and Kamar stepped over him with a small laugh.

_**"The bigger they are, the harder they fall, eh?" **_he chuckled as gestured for his partner to lead the way out of the house.

And then, just when everything was going right for once, an unplanned-for variable came into the mix.

* * *

Butler and Juliet walked, as casually as two people trained never to relax _can _walk, down the street.

All notions of leaving the situation be, soon vanished into the darkness as their sharp hearing picked up what was going on.

"_**I'm here for Artemis Fowl," **_the cold Russian echoed easily across the street to the trained ears.

The person at the door was as big as the elder sibling, but he still didn't manage to stop the men from entering the house. Within minuets there was a hefty banging and shouting before silence reigned once again. The watchers slunk to a safe distance, out of sight, but close enough for what they were about to do.

"He said Artemis Fowl. Even if it's not our Arty, we have to do something, right?"

"Exactly," Butler nodded.

"Plan?"

"Yup," he said, relaying his hastily improvised _Plan B_ quickly to her. Artemis may need days or even weeks to plan a mission, but Butlers were trained to do so in seconds.

Before people even began emerging from the house, they were poised to move.

Juliet readied herself, checking her gun-holster was loose. Her brother didn't even need to ask.

"On my move," he murmured as there was movement at the front door. "Don't be afraid to shoot if you have to."

"I won't be," Juliet said determinedly, gritting her teeth grimly and psyching herself up.

Butler looked at her and couldn't believe he was actually considering taking his little sister directly into a fire-fight. But as much as he hated it, it would be stupid to attempt this himself. Besides, she was ready for it. And there had to be a time where he stopped ordering her to stay behind. She was growing up. She could look after herself now. Still, he would much rather have set her up as cover-fire from their lookout with a sniper. But there wasn't time for that. There wasn't even time for any more contemplation of their botched strategy before someone stepped out of the door and he leapt towards them with all the tensioned spring in his muscles.

* * *

It took at least a second for Vassikin to even realise he'd been hit. Then he was on the way down and face-planting in the snow. A heavy boot kicked off on his back and he heard someone else hitting the floor behind him. After that, there was scuffling and screaming, but Vassikin was too unconscious to notice that.

Butler went in first, clobbering the first man and using him as a springboard to throw himself at the next through the door. Before the smaller man with the gun could react, Butler had disarmed him. He grabbed him in a hold and forced him towards the kitchen like a shield, hoping they'd all be too shocked to shoot. Someone did manage to pull their trigger, but the bullets hit Kamar instead of its intended target.

"_**Don't shoot you idiots!"**_ he screamed, writhing in pain as Butler carried him forwards another few metres.

The Blue Diamond pushed on into the kitchen until all the men were fumbling to holster their weapons, to swap guns for knives or at least free their hands for combat.

Then he dropped the leader and cleared the way for his sister.

Juliet went straight for the boy, tackling the man holding onto him. To be fair to him, the khulingany didn't have a free hand to fight her with and she pounced, easily squeezing a pressure point that made his eyes lose their focus and ripping his arms from his hostage, protecting him instantly in one of the many different moves taught at Madam Ko's Bodyguarding Academy for protecting young principals.

The others of the Mafia team rushed Butler, in an attempt to force him out of the kitchen where he could be shot without another mishap and actually simply lining themselves up in the narrow corridor for him to fight one-by-one.

"Keep your head down Arty," Juliet told the teenager as she dragged him out of danger.

Zory said nothing, utterly confused. Who were all these people? And what did they want?

Most of the men had turned from _fight_ to _flight_ now, shoving to get past eachother to get away from the man who was taking them out methodically, trying to find a better position to down him from. As had been proved, it was far too cramped to be shooting anything and those who had started off trying to fight him hand-to-hand and had suitably failed were amongst the first fighting their way to the exit.

The larger leader Butler had taken out first was up again, standing groggily and shouting. _**"Get the boy and get out! Get him and get out!"**_

Butler span to make sure he wasn't about to get shot in the back and meanwhile someone tried to grab hold of Zory. Immediately they had their wrist broken by Juliet and leapt back, bellowing in anger and pain. He backed out of the door, one hand clamped over the other in shock.

**_"Leave the old man, get the boy!"_** Vassikin yelled again.

Dropping Aramazd, three of the men rushed Juliet, the pressure-pointed one amongst them much more cautiously than the others. She went for him again first and dealt a punishing kick to his knee before turning on the others. He followed his colleague out of the door. If anyone asked later, he had been heading for the getaway vehicle to make sure they had a escape ready.

In the front room, Butler was finishing off the last of the more confident of the team and sent him flying backwards into the snow before turning on Vassikin. The co-leader didn't even attempt to fight, instead making a swift exit, leaving the shot Kamar and just two more of his men behind.

Butler turned on the spot and sprinted back through the door to help his sister as, working together to overpower her, the final two men cornered Juliet, pinning her with a gun as they snatched Zory and made their way to the back door.

It happened so quickly her brother had barely managed to begin to run at the gunman when, unfortunately, Art awoke and decided he had had quite enough of the strangers in his house and tackled him, stunning Butler with a hefty punch he wasn't expecting from behind.

"I'll get him!" Juliet yelled, the very second the gunman was out of the door. And before Butler could order her otherwise, she had jumped over the toppled table, past a shocked Aramazd and out of the back door.

"Juliet!" Butler bellowed, blinked stars out of his eyes and berated himself mentally as he turned to face his attacker.

In the stranger's eyes, he was no better than the others and Juliet gave chase and disappeared after the others as he parried a blow from his latest opponent. Butler risked a glance across the floor, in the hope to at least grab the ratty little man who had first entered the house, once he had subdued this man. But the Mafia leader was gone. Instead, the massive man who had hit him swung at him again and he regretfully decided that Juliet would have to fight for herself. He was in no doubt that she could, but he would never lose the over-protective big-brother instinct.

But in the meantime, he had this problem to deal with.

The giants clashed, each blow being blocked and each block being countered with another punch. Butler went for a leg hook and was almost downed himself in a way that was unsettling familiar in a way he couldn't remember in the heat of the fight. He went for a pole-punch to the stomach, half-expecting the arm to be grabbed and countering with a hit to the collarbone when it was. The man hauled him to the side and he hit the wall. Butler used it as an anchor to push off and send the man crashing into the couch, they almost went over in a tangle of limbs but somehow steadied eachother at the last moment and broke apart, standing a foot out of eachother's reach and panting in air to repay their oxygen debt.

Butler settled into a defensive hand-to-hand combat position, eerily mirrored by the person opposite him. After the initial attack was over, he waited again for the first punch of the next round, as his training dictated. He could grab the offered arm and use it to down the man, using his own weight to bring him to the floor.

So he waited.

But so did the other man.

Butler made it a habit never to look more at his opponent than to weigh up their physique, interpret their body-language to predict their next move and to gauge how much effort it would take him to defeat them. He preferred not to start up a staring match with men he was about to kill, maim or otherwise incapacitate.

The man in front of him was big. Butler-big. He must have matched him pound for pound and most of it was muscle. He was as serious an opponent as the troll had been all those years ago. And so Butler focussed, trying to work out why the man hadn't made another move and planning his own should they be stood like this for more than another few seconds.

Finally, he made eye-contact to check the man wasn't searching the room for a weapon.

And suddenly he almost relaxed. Everything about the man was familiar now. The stance, the way he countered attacks, even the feel of his fist against his blocks. He had more hair and a closely cropped beard, but even with it the head atop the giant body would be entirely recognisable.

It was a trick. It had to be a trick. Butler tensed up his guard again, trying to wipe all emotion from his mind. He was good at that.

But something was happening to the other man too. He made a noise like he was choking and suddenly grabbed his own head in massive hands, stumbling into the staircase bannister.

Butler, although it went against all training, automatically held a hand to his arm to steady him and was immediately pushed away roughly.

"_**Art, are you OK?"**_ Aramazd asked concernedly, wary of coming any closer to the stranger in his house. His friend barely looked at him, instead focussing entirely on the man he had been fighting with.

"Who are you?" he growled in English. _"Who. Are. You?"_

Even Butler was shaking slightly now, his muscles vibrating with contained energy and shock.

"Who the hell are _you?_" he countered, eyes blazing with distrust. A trick. It was a trick to distract him from his charge. How could it be anything else. He was dead. Dead. No-one came back from the dead. Butler knew that. Had been taught it through many harsh lessons. Not even _him._ Not even _he_ could beat that.

Art clamped his eyes shut. At the sound of the voice, images and lightning bolts of white brain-light shot across his vision.

"I… I know you," Art muttered under his breath. "I _know_ you."

It was almost a _question_ and the man before him took it as one, nodding slowly, his face drawn into a frown of confusion. It was a familiar expression. And not just because Art often saw it on his own face in the bathroom mirror. The man looked like him. Slightly younger and minus the hair Art had grown over the years to keep his head and face warm, given, but it was more than that. Art had the feeling he been looking at the face for years. And at the same time, he was sure he'd never seen it before.

There was an uneasy silence before the younger of the two giants spoke again.

"You're not going to try to hit me again, are you?"

Whoever or whatever was before him, could still be an enemy and Butler had to ensure that he wasn't about to find himself under attack again.

"No."

"Good," Butler seemed steadier now, despite the shock. But inside he was reeling.

This was all getting too complicated. This was supposed to be a simple mission. Find Artemis and go home. But now this? His mind struggled to comprehend what must have happened for his uncle to be alive, yet clearly not recognise him. If it was him at all. His thoughts immediately jumped to the fairies. Mind-wipes, cloning and other technology ran through his mind and pure rage began to seep from the place he kept it careful controlled and locked away. Had they made it seem that The Major was dead? Had they been the ones to do this to him and Juliet? Why? What would be the motive?

His mind snapped back to the present. His sister should be back now. Something had happened to her whilst he had been stood here like a stunned boulder.

"I need to find Juliet," he said numbly. "Then I'll work out how you're alive."

And with that, he left out of the back door, leapt over the back fence and disappeared into the night leaving a man who had gone by the name of 'Art' for as long as he could remember and by 'The Major' for so, _so_ much longer than that.

* * *

Juliet knew she was going against her brother's wishes and that her actions were entirely stupid, but as she sprinted past the old Russian man and scrabbled her way over the back fence after the kidnappers, she hoped she could at least get a description of the vehicle that took the boy.

Instead, her half-plan, did not turn out how she had hoped at all.

She flew over the fence, grateful for once for Madame Ko's ridiculous assault courses. This piddly little six-footer was nothing on the concrete barricades she and her fellow students were forced to scramble over on a weekly basis. Unfortunately, whilst she was contemplating this thought, she forgot one of the essential rules of jumping over a barrier.

_Look before you leap._

Her sensei would often fill the pit on the other side of 'The Wall' with various pleasantries to remind her students of the rule and Juliet could not believe it had slipped her mind in a real-life situation. And it left her in a very difficult situation defence-wise.

Although it must be said, her sudden arrival into the alleyway did take the men by surprise as they dragged the struggling boy to a reversing vehicle.

"_**Holy shit!"**_ the one bringing up the rear swore in Russian, immediately before Juliet's fist connected with his neck and he sank to the floor, choking. Another man was being helped to the car, but was unceremoniously dropped on the floor as his fellows turned their gun on their attacker. Before anyone else could move, Juliet had drawn her gun and pointed it at the man she reckoned was the leader. The flicker of everyone elses eyes to him for instruction had given it away.

"Give the boy back," Juliet said firmly. They looked at her blankly so she approached very slowly and pointed at the boy who was becoming more and more subdued. "Give him to me, or I start shooting."

Admittedly, it sounded like one of her brother's lines and probably would have had more effect coming out of his mouth, but at least she had tried.

"_**You are in no position to be giving orders,"**_ the leader said, recognising the word but being unable to answer in the same language. _**"You are lucky you are not dead already."**_

Juliet switched to the language her uncle had insisted she learn fully to fit in with their Bashkir cover-story after its first major use during the 'Carker Incident' or as she liked to call it; 'The time me and Harvey manned the fort while Uncle got shot'.

"_**Just put the boy down and leave. You aren't best set to be ordering me around either,"**_ Juliet said, indicating where her gun was pointed with a minute movement. No exaggerated gestures leaving herself wide-open for her.

"_**Perhaps, but there is only one gun pointed at my head. I count six on yours."**_

There was too. Even Broken-Wrist and Pressure-Point-Guy managed to aim weapons relatively well and Juliet was forced to admit she was outnumbered. Even her brother would've had second thoughts... probably.

_**"Submit quietly and we'll leave you without bullets in your skull, yes?"**_

"_**Fine,"**_ she muttered, lowering her gun.

"_**Don't shoot her. Bring her in. I have a feeling she's important some way,"**_ Vassikin muttered to one of his men, gesturing them to grab her. But as one approached, Juliet grabbed his gun arm, redirecting the gun and swinging the man into his colleague. Unfortunately, they were ready for her this time.

To her credit, none of the three men who tried to attack her escaped without some form of broken bone, but the end result was the same.

And that was why she woke up in the boot of a car, crammed in alongside a terrified boy.

"Urgh…" the next few words out of Juliet's mouth would not have sounded out of place in the roughest of Irish jails. And she would know, having spent a night in one once after a _misunderstanding_ with someone in a club. She took in her surroundings. Dark. Very dark. Not even a glint from a tail-light seeping through the car's bodywork. Reinforced trunk. No popping the lid then. And no kicking out a tail-light to gain attention.

"_**Hello?"**_

"What?" she grumbled, whatever had been said wasn't English.

Zory took a second to try to work out what the girl that had rushed into his house after the Mafia men had said, before he spoke again. His English had improved slightly, but it would still be difficult to communicate, crammed as they were into the boot of a moving vehicle.

"My name is Zory," he said carefully. "What is yours?"

"Its Juliet," she said, moving quickly to her need for facts. "Listen - do you know long was I unconscious for?"

"Sorry, I don't understand."

Juliet ground her teeth and tried to roll over, checking her head for wounds and trying to force her brain to translate what she wanted to say.

_**"Asleep. How long was I asleep for?"**_

"_**Uh… two minutes, maybe less."**_

_Was that a question or a statement? _Madame Ko would have snapped at that, but it was good enough for Juliet. A few minutes. Probably concussion then, but at least her brain still worked so far as she could tell.

"_**Right. Are you hurt?"**_

"_**No."**_

"_**Good. Wait. You said your name is Zory, right?"**_

"_**Yes."**_

"_**You're not Artemis, then?"**_

"_**What? No. My friend. Back at the house. He is Artemis."**_

"_**Listen mate, that was definitely not Artemis Fowl. The guy was about ninety."**_

Zory wondered if she had said the wrong thing, then realised what she meant.

"_**Uh… no. My grandfather. The other man is Art."**_

"_**Art? As in Artemis?" **_Juliet paused, tried to think._** "Zory, me and my brother were here looking for an Artemis Fowl. Do you know him?"**_

"_**Yes. Art **__**is**__** Artemis Fowl."**_

Juliet decided to give up for now. Obviously there was some sort of language barrier and she either wasn't saying the right thing, or she wasn't translating his answers correctly. The other man in the house, other than the Mafia, had been a guy as big as her brother and definitely_ not_ an Artemis Fowl of any variety.

There was silence for a short while and Juliet could swear the boy was shivering slightly in fear.

"_**Zory?"**_

"_**Yes?"**_

"_**Don't be scared. My brother will get us out of this."**_

"_**I'm not scared," **_the teenage boy retorted. _**"And Art will be the one who finds me."**_

"_**Huh. I'm gonna bet you my big brother finds us first."**_

The slang, directly translated from English, didn't quite make sense, but the message was there and Zory suddenly thought that he could get to like Juliet. But he had no answer for the claim. He did not know her brother and even if he was the man that had been fighting with the Mafia team, Zory had no idea if he would be capable of freeing them.

_**"This isn't the first time I've been locked in the trunk of a car, you know,"**_ Juliet said conversationally.

**_"Well I'm hoping this is the last for me," _**Zory said, a little of the fear he was feeling slipping into his words.

Juliet couldn't disagree with that, so she shuffled round uncomfortably, trying to asses their situation better. Her hands were still free and they hadn't taken her bulletproof vest off her yet. She _could_ try to make a break for it when they opened the boot. But that would likely end with her getting shot, leaving the young Russian boy alone and, if possible, even more traumatised by the ordeal.

He may not be her brother's charge, but she still felt the old Butler inbuilt protection instinct firing up. But yet again, instead of saving the person she was supposed to be protecting, she had put them both in even more danger.

_You've really gone and done it this time, _she thought to herself.

And indeed she had.

_If I don't die,_ she groaned mentally. _Dom is going to fecking kill me._

* * *

**Well that was a semi-showdown sorta thing. Hope you enjoyed the first compulsory Wolfy-fic fight-scene of this one.**

**The quote was from 'Transporter 2' - an ace film in my opinion. Plus it has Jason Statham in it, who is also awesome and is tipped to play Butler if the series ever gets filmed. He's got the look and the personality for him, but they'll have to use some pretty good camera angles coz he's only about 5'8"/5'9"... but then again they'll have to do something to get the fairies the right height anyway so they should still be able to have him fine :)**

**Thanks for hanging in there so far!**

**Wolfy  
ooo  
O**

**14-06-12**


	13. Unlucky For Some

**Thanks to: _Sandd, Steinbock_, _2whitie_ and_ Fowl Star 57_ for the reviews - cheers guys!**

**WARNINGS: Bit darker this chapter is. But nothing graphic. **

* * *

**CHAPTER 13**

_**Unlucky For Some**_

**MURMANSK, NORTHERN RUSSIA - PRESENT DAY**

Butler wasn't sure whether to be relived or worried that the alley was empty but for a pair of neatly stacked bins and an old, red pick-up truck.

Yes, Juliet was gone. But at least she wasn't lying on the snow unconscious.

_Or worse,_ thought his pessimistic side grimly.

He vaulted the fence, _after _looking first, and scouted around. A scuffle mark here, a few droplets of blood there, drag marks leading to the tyre tracks that disappeared into the street. Juliet's favourite gun lay abandoned in the churned snow at the edge of the alley and Butler scooped it up, holding it tightly, the freezing metal sticking slightly to his warm hand.

The thought of his sister being kidnapped made every muscle in his body tense, every instinct roaring at him to throw caution to the wind and find her before it was too late.

_But if she was dead, they would've left the body as a warning,_ he reasoned.

With that thought calming him slightly, he jogged to the end of the alley in the hope that the vehicle would have left some tracks. Which of course, in the fresh snow, it had.

_Or at least that's what I'd do if I'd just killed one of their team, _he continued his train of thought._ Then again, I'm not a Russian mobster._

He battled with himself as to whether to set off immediately or turn back to the man who may or may not have been his uncle and hope he would act as a form of back-up. Assuming the man remembered who he was. Which wasn't exactly a given, after the reaction he'd just had from him.

He was fairly set upon running after the one family member he was_ sure_ he had left, when he heard the groaning.

Halfway down the road, a shape was dragging itself slowly after the tyre tracks, moving in painful, irregular shunts.

Butler lightened his footsteps, approaching cautiously. The man may be crippled and bleeding profusely from thigh and stomach wounds, but he could still be armed. And it only took the slightest movement of a single finger to kill someone.

As it was, he needn't have bothered. The man's own mumbling masked any already practically non-existent sound of Butler's approach and he could see that the hands of the injured gang-leader were empty, scrabbling in the snow to drag himself away from the house he had broken into. With that and the thought that this man was responsible for his little sister vanishing, Butler stomped a foot down on the back of the his leg, pinning him instantly. The Russian should think himself lucky it wasn't the back of his _neck_. People didn't need full use of their bodies to talk, after all.

The scream echoed down the snow-covered street as the man swore at him viscously, threatening to kill him with every second word.

"Shut up before I give you something to scream about," Butler growled, flipping the man over and dropping his knees onto his chest to stop him reaching for the gun at his belt.

Ribs creaked and the man hacked, coughing up blood that spattered the pair of them.

"Where have they taken them?" Butler asked, grabbing the man by the jaw and forcing him to make eye-contact.

"Far away, Irlanskii," the man hissed through his teeth. "Nowhere you will find them."

"We'll see about that," Butler muttered, hitting the khulingany on the side of the head with the side of his clenched fist and standing, brushing the snow from his knees.

_Now for another decision._

He either dragged this pathetic lump of flesh to somewhere 'quiet' to get the information he needed, or he took the man back to the house where it had all started and got him to speak there.

The loss of Juliet had been more than enough to bring up the shields around his conscience and let the darker side of his personality take over. The abandoned factory he and Juliet had set up a stakeout would be a good place to avoid people investigating any sound his prisoner happened to make. But the man _was_ bleeding sufficiently to die of bloodloss and Butler had little to treat him with to keep him alive long enough to find out what he need to know. Dead men don't talk, after all.

The house was closer.

* * *

Aramazd was boiling a kettle of water. He knew that there was nothing he could do right now for Zory, but Art was bleeding from a cut above his eye and he could at least clean that up and staunch the flow.

"_**Art? Do you think that man could be the one from your flashbacks,"**_ Aramazd asked cautiously as he dabbed the blood from the Art's face.

"_**I don't know. He seemed familiar. And the girl. The girl he went after. The one who followed the men with Zory. I know her. I'm sure I do. She's far too old to be the girl from my memories, but I know her."**_

"_**Art, for all we know, you have been gone for years. Even before your accident."**_

"_**I know."**_

There was a knock at the door and both men froze, Art recovered first, standing, his hand straying back to the holster his gun was waiting in as he stooped into the porch again. He opened the door cautiously and found on the doorstep, for the second time that night, two men. This time, however, one looking much better off health-wise than the other and they certainly didn't seem to be on the same side.

"I need somewhere to have a _chat_ to this guy. Mind if I do it here?" the larger man asked in English.

Art didn't really know how to respond to that. He didn't particularly want to let the stranger back into the house. But something told him that this man wasn't _exactly_ a stranger. And besides, there wasn't time to wait for lengthy considerations. He had already begun running through his options of phoning authorities, but the police didn't like to go up against the Mafia and to be honest, Art was at a loss as of what to do.

"Please?" the man at the door added and something told Art it was rare for him to ask politely when people refused to comply with what he wanted them to do.

"Yes. Fine. Bring him in," Art nodded, stepping aside cautiously. English wasn't as hard to speak as he would've thought.

Butler nodded at him in thanks and ducked past, smacking the man on his shoulder off the low doorway – not that he seemed to care.

"Have you got sheets?" he asked the second he was through the door.

"Sheets?"

"For the blood," he gestured to the already generous coating over himself and his hostage. "Assuming you don't want it all over the carpet and furniture."

The word 'assuming' rang a bell somewhere in Art's dented cranium and someone he hadn't thought very much about for years came to mind. A short, Japanese someone. And a saying.

_Assuming makes an ass of you and me, boy._

He turned to his friend._**"Aramazd. Do we have any old sheets to hand? To cover the floor."**_

"_**Yes. Upstairs in the airing cupboard. I'll go get…"**_

"_**No, I'll go,"**_ Art interrupted, loping up the stairs quickly. This was partly because Aramazd found it difficult to climb the seventeen steps to the upper floor at the best of times, but also as a small test. Risky, staking Aramazd's life on the trustworthiness of the giant with a dying man slung over his shoulder, but something told Art he would be safe.

Aramazd stared at the younger version of Art. The man on his shoulder was bleeding all down his front but the behemoth didn't seem to notice. Either that or he didn't care. Aramazd suspected it could be both.

"Hello. My name is Aramazd Kochanski," he said slowly and carefully in English.

Butler nodded in acknowledgment. "Butler."

"Your surname, I understand. You don't have another name?"

'Not for you', would be his general response to a question like that, but Butler thought he best be on his best behaviour manners-wise, so went for a milder phrase.

"You can call me Butler."

Aramazd had met others with this view on their identity. _You may call me **this**, my friends can call me **that**._

He wondered briefly what this man's friends and family did call him. Little did he know, he would be surprised to find out.

"And what may my friend call you?" Aramazd asked, indicating the sound of Art upstairs. He was testing the man who obviously knew the big guy, but had yet to reveal exactly _how_.

"Anything he bloody-well wants," the stranger muttered. "He normally does. Or used to, anyway."

"Who is Art to you?" Aramazd tried.

"Why do you call him Art?" Butler avoided.

"Because it's his name, of course."

"No it isn't."

The large stranger said it with such conviction that Aramazd raised an eyebrow. The man seemed very confident on the fact.

"When he came here to us, he had no memory of his past life. He was found on the beach by my grandson Zory - the boy who was taken by the men with him," Aramazd gestured to the unconscious Mafia man.

"Zory. Not Artemis?" Butler asked, just to confirm the fact that his charge had never been here at all. A jolt of guilt hit him when he realised that, for a short while, he had almost completely forgotten what had brought them to Russia in the first place. But Artemis would have to wait for now. People were in more immediate danger than he was. Or at least the bodyguard hoped he was in less trouble than they were. He'd have to be pretty close to death to beat them right now.

"No. _Art_ is Artemis Fowl.

"How did he get here," Butler asked, deciding not to correct the man until he knew all the facts.

"Art came from the boat."

"The _Fowl Star_?"

"We think so. All he could remember was the name 'Artemis Fowl'. So that is what we called him."

Butler's mouth twitched in a slight smirk, despite the blood slowly sinking into his jacket from his prisoner and the fact that all this talking wasn't getting him any closer to finding his sister.

"Why am I not surprised?" he murmured quietly to himself.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing."

Aramazd sighed. Well there was another similarity between Art and the man in his living-room. Neither of them were very talkative and both were about as open as a King's safe.

"You know Art by another name?" he fished.

"I know him by his true name," Butler said bluntly.

"May you tell me?"

Butler snorted through his nose. But there was no harm in telling this elderly gentleman his uncle's bodyguarding name. "He goes by the name 'The Major', to most."

"Why such a name?"

"We are bodyguards," Butler said simply. "We don't use our first names. We use our surname, or another nickname. His is an old rank."

Aramazd nodded. He understood this somewhat. "Bodyguarding whom, may I ask?"

Butler eyed the man suspiciously. He seemed very curious. But then again, this was his friend they were discussing. With the situations reversed, he would want to know too.

"The Fowl family. That's why he remembered the name Artemis Fowl. It's not _his_ name, it's the name of his charge. The one he protects. He's alive, by the way - the real Artemis Fowl," Butler told the old Russian. "But until now, we thought The Major had been killed when the ship went down."

"So I see. And, if I may be so bold as to ask," Aramazd said carefully. "What is it that _you _call him?"

"Me," Butler huffed air from his nose heavily before answering. "I call him Uncle."

* * *

**SEVERAL MILES AWAY, MAFIA SAFEHOUSE**

The first Juliet and Zory knew of their new surroundings was when the car rolled to a stop. She began to fill her lungs with as much of the oxygen depleted air as possible. It had begun to become very claustrophobic in the tight space and both of them were desperate to get out. Still, they should be cautious.

"_**Just lie still. Don't fight them,"**_ Juliet warned as footsteps crunched towards the back of the car and the doors slammed, shaking them slightly in their secure box.

Zory didn't answer and so she wormed a hand between her and the carpeted floor and squeezed hold of his hand for a second. "It's gonna be ok, yeah?"

She hadn't said that in Russian, but Zory nodded in the darkness and did as she said when the boot was wrenched open and their eyes were assaulted by the harsh floodlighting of a compound.

"_**Bring them in. Careful with the girl."**_

"_**Careful? What for? Is she important?"**_

"_**No. Just fast."**_

Juliet was tempted to prove to this idiot _just_ how fast as she was dragged out of the boot and was held in a hold which she could think of at least seven different ways to escape from. But that would probably end with a bullet in the brain, which wouldn't help anyone.

And so she let them drag her and the boy everyone seemed to think was, but who _wasn't, _her brother's charge inside the large building and tie their hands and feet.

"_**You better not cause trouble, hear me?"**_ one man told them, tightening Zory's bindings.

"_**What do you want with us?"**_ Zory asked, cautiously.

"_**Me personally? Nothing. I am nothing to worry about. The Menidzher on the other hand…"**_ the man left the sentence hanging and chuckled nastily before leaving them.

"_**The Menidzher? As in the Mafia? What would the Mafia want with us?"**_ Zory asked once the man had shut the door.

"_**Not you, Zory," **_Juliet said tiredly as she flicked her gaze around the room for a way out. No such luck. No windows. No ventilation system. Just the one door which had been securely locked from the sound of the bolt entering its housing._** "They want Artemis Fowl."**_

"_**They want Art?"**_

"_**What?"**_

"_**Not what, who. My friend. The big man at the house. His name is Artemis Fowl," **_Zory explained._** "Or, well... at least we think it is."**_

"_**What do you mean you think?" **_Juliet frowned. Either it was his name or it wasn't. How could anyone be unsure of that?

"_**He washed ashore a few years ago after that big boat with all the Coke on it blew up. He can't remember anything. Just the name Artemis Fowl."**_

"_**Wait - boat? With Coke on it? You mean The Fowl Star, right?"**_

_**"Yes. At least I think that's what it was called."**_

Juliet groaned softly and tried to make sense of what he was saying. Her Russian was better than it ever had been, but that didn't mean it was brilliant and she wanted to be sure of what the boy was saying.

"_**What is it?" **_he asked._ **"Are you hurt? Did they hurt you when they knocked you out?"**_

**_"What? Oh hell no, it's just..."_** Juliet sighed slightly._** "It's just that m**__y_ uncle died on that boat. And he and my brother pretty much raised me."

_**"He died i****n the accident? I'm sorry."**_

"_**I wasn't an accident, Zory. It was the Mafia. They wanted Mr. Fowl dead."**_

"_**Who?"**_

"_**The real Artemis Fowl. Not whoever you had at home."**_

"_**Then whose he?"**_

"_**I dunno. Just some lucky sailor off the ship."**_

"_**But he said his name was Artemis Fowl…"**_

"_**Probably just trying to get you to take him in."**_

"_**No. No, Art said it like it was the most important thing in the world to him. He was sure it wasn't his name, but because it was all he could remember, we called him Art - short for Artemis, although for some reason he wanted us to call him Fowl. Said he felt more comfortable with it."**_

Juliet was about to answer when a thought struck her harder than Madame Ko's cane when she thought her student wasn't concentrating hard enough.

_**"Zory, this guy Art," **_she said slowly. _**"He have any distinguishing features?"**_

"_**Like what?" **_Zory asked, confused. Art hadn't seemed to matter to her a second or so ago.

"_**Like…"**_ Juliet couldn't believe she was asking this. It was stupid. It couldn't be. _**"Like tattoos?"**_

"_**Yes. Just one though."**_

"_**On his shoulder?"**_ Juliet was more excited now.

_**"Yes. It isn't a big one though. We used to tease him about it not being very macho. It's just a diamond..."**_

_**"A blue one?" **_Juliet interrupted._ **"A blue diamond on his shoulder?"**_

"_**Yes, how did you know?"**_ Zory looked surprised.

"_**Lucky guess,"**_ Juliet murmured.

Her heart racing. It could be anyone. Around three people a year gained their blue diamonds. It could be anyone. But maybe... just maybe... it could be... could be _him_.

Their 'baby-sitter' came back with masking tape and secured a rough rectangle over their mouths to stop them talking to eachother but Juliet had heard enough already.

Dare she let herself believe it? Could it be? Could her uncle be alive after all?

* * *

**MURMANSK, NORTHERN RUSSIA**

The man caught between names came down the stairs quickly, carrying a pile of sheets.

Butler eyed him cautiously. If this was a fairy mindwipe, surely his presence alone would have triggered a complete recall by now?

He watched his uncle lay out the sheets, doubled-up, on the sofa to stop some of the blood sleeping through. He did it swiftly and professionally, as though at least_ some_ part of him remembered doing this before. He had, of course. Many times. Too many times.

Butler slung the man off his shoulder and onto the settee a little heavily. He awoke slowly, groaning in pain.

"We're going to need to strap that leg and put something on his stomach or we'll be lucky to get anything out of him before he cops it," Butler muttered, taking off his belt quickly and threading it under the man's leg, above the heavily bleeding wound before locking it as tight as it would go. That woke Kamar up fast enough. He screamed and tried to pummel the source of his pain, but Butler simply grabbed a flailing arm and pinned the man with one hand, squeezing the pressure point in his neck to send him back into his semi-concious state.

"I'll hold, you ask," The Major grunted.

Butler looked at him, half-surprised. Had his uncle just given him an order? The wording was identical to what he would've used in the past. The thought watered the small seed of hope in his mind that maybe, just maybe, this changed man before him could return to being the uncle he knew and… well, l...

_Pull yourself together, man. Don't be so bloody emotional._

"Yes, Uncle," he answered, almost automatically, but also as a small test.

"Did you just call me... _'Uncle'_?" Art asked, frowning.

"Yeah," said his nephew bluntly. "That_ is_ who you are to me."

"What's your name?"

"You tell me," Butler muttered.

The Major ground his teeth in frustration, but he would do exactly the same to anyone with memory loss. Wait. _Would_ he? _Why_ would he? _Training._ It was something to do with _training_. Training for what?

_'Life'_, was the only answer that came to mind.

"Why don't I remember you?"

"I don't know. Probably got something to do with that whacking-great scar on your head," Butler told him, bending and drawing a knife from his boot. "Now grab hold of this bugger. I have a feeling he's not going to sit still for very much longer."

The Major grabbed a towel and dropped it over the stomach wound, pushing one fist onto it and pinning the man's injured leg with the other hand.

"Ready?"

The Major nodded curtly and Butler began.

"_**Wake up,"**_ he said in Russian, patting his hostage sharply on the face.

The khulingany jolted awake, tried to move and found himself restrained almost entirely. His eyes narrowed into slits and he looked up suspiciously.

"_**What do you want from me?"**_

"_**I want you to answer my questions. Do so quickly and there may be time to get you to a hospital, yet."**_

Kamar coughed, trying to sound amused. _**"You think you can make me talk?"**_

"_**No," **_said Butler coldly._** "I **__**know**__** I can make you talk.**_

"_**You are mistaken, Irlanskii," **_Kamar bared yellowed teeth at him._** "I already know I am dead. What else can you do to me?"**_

_**"I could kill you faster, if you'd prefer."**_

_**"I'll never help you, you piece of shit. You think you are so good. You are a Butler, right? You are a family of bastards."**_

_**"Thank-you," **_Butler said blankly._** "Now. Will you answer my questions?"**_

_**"I am Mafia,"**_ Kamar spat, some sort of pride in his voice._** "You will never make me talk."**_

_**"****We'll see," **_Butler smiled grimly.

No. _'Smiling'_ suggested happiness.

There was no good-feeling in the grimace. He found no joy in what he was about to do. Satisfaction, perhaps, but not happiness.

And so the next half an hour or so was spent using some of the _less tasteful_ things they had learnt during academy training.

But that wasn't to say it wasn't useful.

* * *

******I decided not to write the actual scene for the above, in order for this fic to stay 'T'. Plus I have little-to-no experience in writing that stuff and what I wrote would be entirely scraped together from films like 'Taken'.**

******Yeah, so slightly not as funny as my usual fics. Sorry - hope it's not too much of a change. I don't like change. And never fear, there _will_ be some form of slightly hilarious Butler-ness in this fic :) I couldn't possibly write one without any in it :D**

******So, Jules and Dom know The Major's not dead, but he doesn't know he was supposed to be dead in the first place or who the hell these people calling him 'Uncle' are. Hope you're keeping up alright!**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Wolfy  
ooo  
O**

**18-06-12**


	14. Reckoning

**Thanks to:_ Sandd_ (who I think may possibly be the quickest reviewer ever), _FFcrazy15, Crazy Female LEPrecon, Shadow Huntress, 2whitie, Fowl Star 57 _and_ Steinbock _for the reviews and to_ Sandd,__ awsd,__ xSeverusxCrookshanksx _and_ Hooey _for the faves/alerts. **

**By the way, you guys just made this fic the highest reviewed fic of mine, other than Lil Rems - so ta very muchly for that :)**

**WARNINGS: Some swearing, dark subjects and death. _(Quick, scroll down and check that it isn't a Butler!)_**

**Don't worry, there's some good old dark-humour in there too to counter it out a little :)**

**Just a reminder "Bold" = Russian, **"Normal"** = English. Just that there's both in this chappie.**

**Right, enough waffling - Onwards!**

* * *

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN  
**

_**Reckoning**_

Within twenty minutes the Butlers had all the information they needed from him and Kamar looked about ready to shoot himself. If he could move more than a few centimetres, perhaps he already would have tried.

Needless to say, Kamar was not as tough as he boasted. In fact, Butler had had a harder job getting information out of much lesser qualified people than he. Nastier customers even than the Mafia, perhaps, but probably less well-versed in the darker ways of _acquiring _information. From the man's reaction, Butler was fairly sure that Kamar had had plenty of experience being on the other side of the '_conversation'_ before now.

To put it nicely, Aramazd had left the room shortly after Kamar had started refusing to answer.

The younger man cleaned his knife meticulously before replacing it in his boot holster, wiped his hands on the rag he had been using and looked up. "Mind if I clean up somewhere?"

"Upstairs. First left," Art, The Major, or whichever name he was currently going by, told him and then stared at the man on the sofa for a bit.

Kamar was 'on his way out', as some would put it. It would be kinder to put a bullet in his head, but The Major wasn't into the business of being kind to men who had caused the kidnapping of his friends and, if the familiar stranger was to be believed, his family members.

"_**You're him, aren't you?"**_ the man spluttered hoarsely. _**"Fowl's bodyguard. You were on the ship when it went down."**_

Art said nothing.

"_**You don't remember, do you?"**_ Kamar laughed, sneering at him, then choked on some of his own blood and coughed himself into silence once again, shivering and shuddering, though it wasn't cold in the room heated by the log fire.

The sound of the pipes rattling as water was pumped to the bathroom taps played in the background and for some reason Art was entirely unsurprised that the usually accompanying sound of the boiler starting up to heat the icy flow, didn't follow.

_Why would he not give himself the comfort of using hot water? _the part of him that was truly 'Art' wondered.

But to the other part of him, it seemed normal that the man wouldn't do such a thing despite Art having no idea why.

"_**I'm not sorry, you know,"**_ Kamar hissed through the pain_**. "Fowl deserved everything he got, the bastard. Losing a leg, now losing his son. I'm only sorry I didn't get to finish him myself."**_

That had been one of the worst things their search for Artemis Fowl Junior had unearthed. The fact that his father, last seen bleeding profusely after being thrown into the icy waters surrounding the _Nikodim_, had somehow survived and not only that, but was living with his wife and son at their manor once again. And, most disgustingly, he had gone entirely _legal_ with his business ventures. Kamar and Mikhael had wanted to kill him immediately for all the hardship he had put them through through his two years of captivity, but Britva had ordered them to leave him alone. He had said he had a plan - and no-one argued with a Menidzher with a plan. In fact, no-one argued with him at all. Argumentative people generally ended up dead, in the Mafia.

"_**Careful, stranger. I may not remember now, but perhaps soon I will. And when that happens, you won't want to have said something you later regret," **_Art said quietly.

There was a creaking on the stairs behind them.

"_**And even if he doesn't remember, I certainly do. So shut your mouth before I close it for you permanently."**_

Kamar, wisely for once, shut up. He had already been subject to some of the younger Butler's skill-set twice so far tonight and he did not want to feel any of them again any time soon.

Art looked at Butler as though he were about to speak, then turned away to open the kitchen door and check on Aramazd.

He closed it behind him.

The old man had made more tea and was sipping from a chipped mug at the table.

"_**Are you OK?" **_Art asked him, a little concern for the man who had taken him in when he needed it, slipping into his tones.

"_**Fine, thank-you. I guess the talents of your young friend were slightly too much for an elderly stomach like my own to handle."**_

Art grunted an agreement and poured himself a drink.

"_**You don't seem to have been affected."**_

"_**I've done it myself before,"**_ Art murmured before his brain could think about it.

Aramazd smiled. _**"You said that without thinking."**_

"_**Yes."**_

"_**You seem to be remembering more since his arrival."**_

"_**Perhaps."**_

"_**I know he'll be leaving soon. Going after the kidnappers."**_

_**"I suspect so."**_

_**"You should go with him,"**_ Aramazd stated.

"_**I would, but I'm not leaving you alone at a time like this."**_

"_**Quiet. Don't talk such nonsense. I'll be perfectly fine and you shall go rescue Zory and the girl with this Butler fellow and…"**_

"_**You have such faith in our abilities," **_Art muttered, interrupting the old Russian. _**"You know the chances are slim to none that any of us will survive this. This is the Mafia we are talking about."**_

"_**I have a feeling the past-you would feel more strongly about your success."**_

"_**I am not the 'past-me' anymore."**_

**_"True, but then none of us are our past selves anymore,"_** Aramazd said wisely._** "But perhaps you could be more like your previous self if you could remember more."**_

Art said nothing and drank his tea.

If he remembered more, then he would remember about this Artemis Fowl he was never supposed to have forgotten in the first place. He would remember everything leading up to the accident. Everything about his past life. How he had received each and every one of the numerous, _numerous_ scars on his body and how he had come to get the blue, slightly iridescent, diamond-shaped tattoo on his shoulder. He had a feeling the memories wouldn't all be good. Not, at least, compared to the few simple years he had spent with Zory and Aramazd.

"_**Then, perhaps, we can all have a talk about what this changes for the future,"**_ Aramazd continued as though he had never paused.

"_**What about the future?" **_Art asked, frowning.

**_"The one we shall hopefully have once this is all over,"_** the old man chuckled quietly.

**_"What is there to 'talk about'?" _**Art asked, warming his giant hands around his drained mug of tea.

"_**Well, I'm assuming you want to be reunited with your family?"**_

Art looked at him seriously before he spoke. _**"As far as I am concerned, you and Zory **__**are**__** my family, Aramazd. You are the only family I remember."**_

* * *

Standing on the other side of the door, the man gritted his teeth and tried to beat back the wave of bitterness that washed over him at his uncle's simple comment. He didn't know, _couldn't remember_, any better. Butler was hopeful his uncle would have a change of heart once he remembered the truth.

_If_ he remembered the truth.

Butler thought briefly about phoning Foaly. They could really do with some sort of back-up. Not to mention he had a bone to pick with the centaur. Originally his mind had jumped to the conclusion of the fairies mindwiping his uncle. Then he had seen the ominous-looking dint in his uncle's scalp and realised that that was more likely to be the reason. Still, the centaur could've at least looked more into his sighting before sending him off to a situation that left him pitted against the Mafia yet again. He had had far too many dealings with the organisation in his lifetime and another was not any more welcome than the first. Butler rested his chin on his knuckles and stared in a way that allowed him to watch the prisoner whilst being half-lost in his thoughts and tried not to listen any more to the conversation going on in the kitchen.

"_**What's wrong, eh?"**_ Kamar asked from the couch, his confidence returning slightly as the pain began to become slightly distant and dull. _**"Daddy not love you anymore?"**_

After giving away the address of the safe-house, he obviously had some sort of suicide wish.

"_**He's not my father,"**_ Butler muttered, then wondered why he had bothered responding at all. To be fair, it was an easy mistake for anyone to make. His father and uncle being identical twins meant he had inherited similar looks to those that The Major would have passed on anyway, had he had a son of his own.

"_**Uncle, father, same difference in your bastard family. That girl, was she your sister or your girlfriend? Both, perhaps?"**_

"_**Careful,"**_ Butler growled. _**"I don't mind cleaning my knife again."**_

Kamar was past caring and let out a cough of a laugh, but the door opened before Butler could act upon his threat and the old man looked through the opening.

"Could I talk to you?"

The switch to English from Russian was instantaneous, but it made no difference to Butler.

"Of course," he said warily.

"In here. Art will watch our... guest," Aramazd said.

As his uncle ducked through the door, he seemed subdued. Similar to the way students looked after a ticking-off from Madam Ko. Butler didn't understand why and so he ignored it, entering the kitchen and taking a seat when asked to.

"Art had an idea you drank your tea black," Aramazd said as he passed him a steaming mug.

"Thanks," Butler inclined his head slightly. So his uncle could remember how he liked his tea, but not his name or who he really was. Typical. Butler himself could only remember a few times The Major had actually poured him a brew - and most of those times one or both of them had been at the point of physical and mental exhaustion - yet _that_ was what stuck in his mind?

"I presume you found out what you needed?" Aramazd said.

It wasn't a question. The walls were not so thick in his house. He had heard the rumbling of quiet, deadly talking - swiftly followed by the screaming.

"Yes," Butler answered anyway, just to be polite.

"And you will be leaving soon?"

"Yes."

"Could you do me a favour?"

Butler nodded cautiously, just once. He wondered why the man was making such an effort to speak English. Manners, maybe. Sheer ability to do so, perhaps. Despite everything, Butler found that he did not dislike the man sat before him, regarding him with sharp eyes as though he could see into his very soul and was reading him like a book.

Butler didn't like the feeling. There were a very scarce few who could give it to him and he didn't very much feel like adding to the list.

"Take Art with you."

For a few seconds Butler said nothing. It was strange, being asked to take his uncle with him. There had been a time when people had asked The Major to let him, Butler, tag along. But never the other way around. Butler was well-used to being the most experienced of a group, but not compared to the man who practically raised him through his training years and taught him many tricks of their trade.

"Would you?" Aramazd continued. "Only, I think it will do him and you _both_ some good."

After a moment's pause, Butler answered.

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

* * *

Art listened in to what was being said in the kitchen. Naturally.

His own conversation with Aramazd had ended with an accusation Art found insulting and also slightly unsettling.

"_**You don't want to remember your past?"**_Aramazd had asked him.

"_**I don't care to," **_he'd replied easily.

"_**You know something, Art?" **_Aramazd has spoken slowly, so that his friend would know that he had chosen his next words carefully._** "I think that you are afraid to remember."**_

Art had, of course, hotly rejected the statement instantly out-loud. But inwardly he pondered it. Was he fearful of what he would find out about his past? About himself?

The man on the sofa was wriggling about and it brought the trained eyes of The Major to him.

But by then it was already too late. So suddenly that even if he had been himself, The Major might not have been able to act any different than he actually did, Kamar had drawn a gun from wherever it had been concealed on his person and pointed it at him with shaking hands.

Almost before Art could react, he pulled the trigger and sent a bullet speeding towards him. The bullet narrowly missed, instead hitting the wall and sending out a plume of plaster-dust as the khulingany struggled, fingers slick with his own blood, to pull the trigger again.

There was another gunshot and a man died instantly.

* * *

The bullet had actually passed through the wall entirely and Butler had stood so quickly that his chair toppled over backwards and slammed into the cupboards behind him. He had reached the door, gun drawn, safety off, before the clattering stopped.

Luckily for his uncle.

Butler's soldier-brain took in all the information and came up with the only response possible.

_Shoot to kill._

And so he did.

At the instruction of his trigger-finger, the bullet left its snug chamber in the Sig Sauer and sped forward, intent on completing its job. And as it did so, it occurred to its sender just how long it had been since he had purposefully shot a person with the intention to kill them. But there was no time to contemplate what could have been, for what might have been had he not acted would have been so, so much worse. The bullet, shot at such close range, passed straight through its target to beyond and, upon fulfilling its purpose, nestled contentedly in the bottom step of the stairs behind the sofa.

And that was why, a few seconds later when he had ascertained with a single glance that the would-be killer was definitely dead, Butler turned to Aramazd with a face the closest to apologetic as it could get and said, calmly and quietly:

"I'll pay for the couch."

* * *

**Right, hopefully I handled that whole subject alright there. Sorry it was short but the next one should be a bit longer and it split better this way :) Updates appear to be every three days just now, so I'll try update early as compensation for the short-asrsed-ness of this chapter haha :)**

**Thanks for all your support and what-not so far - might have not kept up with the updates if it wasn't for hearing from you all,**

**Wolfy**  
**ooo**  
** O**

**21-06-12**


	15. The Lion's Den

**Thanks to: _Sandd, Shadow Huntress, Steinbock, Beckett Simpleton _and_ Fowl Star 57 _for the reviews.**

**Early update for ya!**

* * *

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

_**The Lion's Den**_

As much as he was desperate to hunt down the kidnappers, Butler knew from experience that rushing in blindly never worked out. Or at least, it never worked quite as well as coming up with a plan.

And so, despite the excruciating hour and a half it had already taken to get moving, he stopped them again to double-check their surroundings.

They were close. They had to be.

Shortly after dealing with the dead mafia-man's body and dumping it in the back of the pick-up truck under a tarpaulin, Art had retrieved all of his 'kit' from the cupboard under the stairs and donned it quickly. Somehow, he knew _exactly_ where everything went. The sound of the buckles clicking shut, the feel of the kit against his body, the particular type of strain on his arm muscles as he reached round and tightened the bulletproof vest. Everything felt completely natural.

For a while they had been at a loss as of what to do with Aramazd. They couldn't very well take him with them, even armed the old man would be more of a hindrance than a help and Art knew he'd be constantly distracted making sure he wasn't in any danger. In the end it was decided that he would stay in the hotel room the Butler siblings had been sharing. It was the least likely place the Mafia would look for him, especially if they had been following 'Artemis Fowl' around for a while and learning his habits. Aramazd refused to put any of his friends in danger by asking to spend the night under their roof. However, The Mafia clearly had not been expecting the Butlers and this, coupled with the false names they had been using, made the basis for the theory that they should have no idea that they were staying in the village at all.

And so, after creating a back-up plan for the old Russian to inform the police if none of them returned by sunrise, Butler and his amnesiac uncle left Aramazd with a gun and a phone and set off with barely an idea of how to begin this insane rescue attempt.

Following the dubious directions of a now recently deceased man, they took the pick-up truck to their next destination – a truck which, Butler noted, was polished to a high gleam, the rusted areas carefully treated and repainted and the wheel rims free of slush. Apparently, no matter how much shrapnel hit you on the head, some things never changed.

"I think we should leave the truck here," Butler broke the silence that had been reigning since they set off almost half an hour ago.

The Major nodded curtly and took the keys out of the ignition, snapping the bundle into his hand and putting them in his pocket, patting it once as though to check they'd settled there safely. The motions were so familiar Butler felt a strange swell fill his chest.

Different keys, same gestures.

He'd thought his uncle dead. He'd done his grieving. That should have been it. But no. Here was this… this _stranger_ wearing his uncle's body and using his voice and acting out all the things The Major did as second nature. Things Butler had grown up watching.

"Do you really not…" he stopped.

_Stupid question._

As if he would have spent all these years living as a fisherman in Murmansk if he could remember his charge and… well, and maybe his family too - then surely he'd have come back.

"What?" the driver asked him, cocking his head in exactly the same way as he always had when he was left waiting for the end of a question.

"Nothing," Butler muttered and got out of the cab.

* * *

**MAFIA SAFEHOUSE, UNDISCLOSED LOCATION, NORTHERN RUSSIA**

Britva arrived in his usual style. That is to say; swiftly, secretively and almost unnoticeably. That is, until he got inside the secure building. _Then_ he _acted _in his usual style.

"_**Ah, Mr. Britva, sir! I didn't see you arrive..."**_

_**"Well that is the point, Vassikin,"**_ Britva snapped. **"Where is Kamar? He was supposed to alert me once you got the boy."**

Mikhael shuffled nervously. And guiltily. Kamar had been a long-term partner of his. Not in _that_ sense, of course. But he _had_ almost considered the man as a friend at some points. _**"Ah… we… ah… lost him, Mr. Britva. During the raid."**_

"_**You lost him? How? The old man killed him with a fishing-rod, did he?"**_ Britva asked, half-amused, half-serious.

"_**No, sir. We were… interrupted, sir."**_

"_**Police? Tell me you did not involve the police, you idiot!"**_

"_**No, no Mr. Britva, sir," **_Vassikin said hurriedly. _**"Two people, a man and a girl attacked us. They followed us into the house and tried to stop us from taking the boy."**_

"_**And did they succeed? I better not have come all this way for nothing, Vassikin,"**_ Britva said dangerously.

"_**No. No, sir. And what's more we brought the girl in too, sir."**_

"_**Who is she?"**_

"_**We don't know, sir. She won't talk, other than to say that the boy is not Fowl. He claims to be a local. Kochanskii or something."**_

"_**Well, we shall see if he continues to claim that once I start talking to him,"**_ Britva said ominously, marching down the corridor towards the room that held the prisoners. Vassikin gulped slightly and followed him. He almost felt sorry for the prisoners.

* * *

**OUTSIDE MAFIA SAFEHOUSE**

Contrary to popular belief, not all safe-houses are hidden away, off-the-beaten-track and surrounded by a dark, foreboding forest. Sometimes the cleverest hiding place is in plain sight. This was one of those times and the Butlers found themselves in an almost-empty street barely any different to the one where Aramazd's house stood.

There were cars and men outside the building Kamar had described to them and, judging by the way they were standing and the weaponry leaving tell-tale bumps under their coats, Butler severely doubted they were local cabbies. Sure enough, after a few minutes of watching, someone whistled from down the side of the building and the men stubbed out their cigarettes, stooping into the cars which filed down an alleyway, one after the other. The grating noise of a roller-door being lifted sounded across the road, muffled by the snow and the pair of Butlers slunk quickly along the pavement, just in time to see the tail-lights of the final car bump into a garage. The door rolled down behind them and the street was empty and silent once again.

_Great. _Butler thought as he found himself looking to his uncle for any bright ideas of how to break into the safe-house now that they were fairly certain they had managed to extract truthful information from the ex-Mafia-hitman. _Now what?_

Oddly, The Major was looking at _him_ with the same expression.

_Bollocks. _

"We need to find a way in there, obviously, and my guess is the least secure entrance is going to be that garage," he said quietly. "So either we wait here for someone to come out, or we try and break in. It's not going to be easy either way."

He paused for input.

Nothing.

It was like trying to work with a civilian.

Butler ground his teeth in annoyance and started trying to work out distances. How close could they get before getting picked up by a security camera? How quickly could they get from A to B? Where was there cover should a fire-fight break out?

"The way just looked at me suggests that this is normally where I would say something useful," The Major pointed out unhelpfully.

"Yes. It is." Butler muttered, rising slowly from his hunkers and searching the alleyway for any sort of cover closer to the roller-door.

"Well I apologise for not being of any use this time," The Major said, a little morosely.

Butler's gaze snapped back to the man in his uncle's body. Apologies? From his uncle? To him? He must have hit his head pretty damn hard when he got that scar.

"Don't. It's… _odd_."

"Fine. What would I normally say?"

Butler pondered this for short second. "Probably something along the lines of: 'Find us some cover, but watch yourself boy, you're no good to me with a bullet in your skull.'"

Art chuckled quietly. Zory would probably point out here that it _did _sound like him. He'd said something along similar lines to the boy about paying attention on the rear of the boat before he got himself knocked off into the sea by the swing-crane.

"Well, at least your sense of humour's still intact," Butler muttered, eyeing up a set of bins much closer than their current position to the door. "I think we should set up behind those bins there. When the door opens we should be able to rush them. There'll probably be gunfire. You up for that?"

"Physically - yes. Mentally - probably. Whatever memories I have left of my past seem to take over when I need them, thankfully."

"That's training for you," Butler told him. "Muscle memory. Ko once told us someone could hack off our heads and our bodies would still be able to kill the bastard that did it."

"Ko. _Madame_ Ko, right?" Art blinked as memories flashed in his mind's eye. "I… I remember her…"

* * *

**MADAME KO'S BODYGUARDING ACADEMY, UNDISCLOSED LOCATION - THE PAST**

"_Do not become emotionally attached to __**anything**__. It will affect your judgement and your ability to do your job properly," a short Japanese woman, his sensei, raised her infamous bamboo stick threateningly. "Not your principal, not your weaponry, not your __**flaming **__car! Are you even listening to me boy?"_

_"Yes m'am."_

_"Then why do I get the feeling this is going in one ear and out of the other?" the woman snapped. "Do **not** become emotionally attached to** anything**!"_

"_Not even…" the boy who would one day become one of the most feared men in the world began meekly._

"_No!" she screeched, whacking him over the head repeatedly._

* * *

A fist nudged his elbow firmly, snapping him back to the icy Russian street.

"Where'd you go?" his nephew asked quietly.

"Academy days. Ko was grilling me. Something to do with being attached to a car," he murmured.

"Sounds about right."

"That's what I was thinking."

"These space-out flashbacks happen often?"

"Hmm. Quite."

"Well do me a favour and don't do it while I need you."

"While you... _need _me?" The Major raised an eyebrow, somewhat amused by the statement.

Butler coughed gruffly and anyone who didn't know better might've claimed that it sounded a little like an _embarrassed_ sort of noise.

"To be watching my back," he clarified. "Not even I can take the Mafia on single-handedly."

Damned he was if he was going to be accused of being… _emotional_, or some shite.

_Right. Enough talking,_ Butler decided and stood up carefully. His uncle followed. He would either have to get used to this strange role reversal, or else find a way to get his uncle's memories back. Soon, would be preferable.

Once behind the bins, Butler took out his Sig Sauer, flicked off the safety and settled into a more comfortable crouching position. The Major looked at him and followed suit. His knees cracked and he winced, not at the sharp crackle of pain, but at the loudness of the synovial fluid movement in the silence of the alleyway. Then, for some reason he changed the position of his legs subconsciously and suddenly felt as though he could stay like that for as long as he liked. Thankfully.

They crouched like waiting predators, watching the door silently.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

**INSIDE MAFIA SAFEHOUSE**

Half-way down the corridor, Britva almost bumped into a door as it opened suddenly. The man responsible looked as though he thought he might as well shoot himself immediately, but he still held the door open for the men carrying through one of his teammates.

**_"What the hell happened to him?"_**

**_"Erm… he... well he was injured in the raid, sir,"_ **the man stammered.

**_"And?" _**Britva demanded.

**_"Well quite a few of us could do with some medical attention, sir. So we were going to head out to the medic-hut and…"_**

The 'medic-hut' was another building a few miles away which served as a miniature hospital should any of the Mafia need treatment. No-one wanted questioning on exactly how they received their various injuries.

**_"Can't you treat yourselves here, you pathetic bunch of half-arsed layabouts?"_**

**_"Erm… w...well, sir…" _**the man stuttered.

**_"Fine! Go. But when you come back do not expect to be paid for your idiocy!"_**

The majority of the raid team exited as rapidly as they could, limping and wincing as they went.

* * *

**OUTSIDE MAFIA SAFEHOUSE**

The first the Butlers knew of their chance was the engine starting up on the other side of the garage door.

"Showtime…" Butler muttered, checking his safety again. "We'll see what comes out and then roll under the door if we have time. If not… well then we'll have to…"

"Improvise," The Major said, cocking his head thoughtfully. "_Improvise._ We say that a lot, don't we?"

"Yeah," Butler said. At least he remembered something, even if it wasn't so useful. "Yeah, we did."

The Major felt a stab of sadness at the tense of the statement. Past-tense. Maybe one day it would be present-tense once again. For a moment The Major wondered why he was so bothered.

But there was no time for a trip down memory lane as the door rolled up gratingly once again.

A dark 4x4 inched out slowly, a man following and presumably pressing a button on a remote to close the door behind them. It began to shut almost immediately, but the vehicle idled until the man opened the passenger door and hopped in. The sound of it slamming acted like a trigger and the younger Butler rose silently from his haunches and slunk along the wall rapidly. The Major waited a few seconds before following at a distance. Something told him that it was correct protocol to leave enough space between the two of them that if one was spotted, they wouldn't both get caught.

Unfortunately the door was sliding down faster than they had predicted and the alleyway was far too long for them to wait until the car was out of sight.

Either they hoped the driver didn't check his rear-view mirror as often as the DVLA suggested, or they missed their chance to get inside.

Butler made the decision for the both of them, breaking cover from the cloak of shadows at the base of the wall and making for the last metre-or-so of space under the door at a full sprint with his uncle barely three steps behind him. Both hit the floor rolling, both subconsciously drawing guns and aiming them at a row of sleek black cars that stood in waiting behind the metal portal.

Outside the 4x4 ferrying the injured men to the medical house bumped over the curb and out onto the street, oblivious to their presence.

The elder Butler controlled his breathing, moderately pleased with the limited amount of panting the sprint had forced him to perform. He may not be as fit as he had once been, but he could certainly give any other sixty-odd year old a run for their money and probably a fair number of thirty-year-olds too.

The room was empty of life. The only breath fogging the still air was their own.

"There goes the easy part," Butler muttered, getting to his feet and brushing the snow from his jacket.

"Quite," The Major muttered, something taking over his actions as he began scouting under cars and looking for doors. "Now all we have to do is…"

"Break into the rest of the building, get past the Mafia without getting shot dead and waltz our way back out of here with our targets?"

"Yeah. _That_," but The Major didn't seem like he heard his own answer.

Butler watched him carefully, but since there was no immediate threat, he let his uncle relive whatever it was that was playing behind the glazed eyes.

* * *

**FOWL MANOR, DUBLIN, IRELAND - THE PAST**

_In the almost darkness of the room he saw the man fly backwards, crashing into the door and sliding down to the relative safety of the long bar of light. An escape. But not if he could help it._

_He threw himself over the nearest car, sliding over the bonnet onto the floor, the dusty concrete not giving him much slide, but it was enough to reach the door just as the jack was kicked out from under it and the it rolled downwards almost too quickly to catch. But he had made his decision and threw his hands under the door, catching it and heaving upwards with his considerable might. His elbow joints felt the pressure, but he used his core muscles and held it steady. Someone he instinctively knew was on his side – always had been, always would be – leapt over to help but he halted him with a shake of his head._

"_Can you fit under?"_

_The man dropped onto the floor and rolled..._

...just as they had done moments ago...

_...and hefted a shoulder against the metal to squeeze under._

"_Can you catch him?" he asked, fighting to keep his voice steady and hold the heavy roller door off the floor._

"_Let's see," the man growled and he heard a scrabble of gravel as his teammate – his nephew – set off at a sprint after the intruder._

* * *

He inhaled sharply and was back in a different garage, with a different door, different set of cars, but with the same ally.

"What did you see?"

"I… I think I remember…" he scrubbed a hand across his eyes as though to wipe away ghosts of the images in his head.

"Yes?"

"Nothing of importance. Let's keep moving."

Butler nodded. There was the uncle he remembered. Mind on the job.

"Right. Once we get in we'll be on camera, if we're not already. I'm betting not everyone headed out just then. Two hostages means at least two guards – more, if they realise Juliet has training. Then there's the boss himself. The man we spoke to told us he'd be here in person."

The Major flicked his eyebrows skyward. "Your point?"

"Even if we get away there'll be after us. We'd never even make it to the airport before they caught up with us."

"So we get rid of any trace. Leave them not knowing who freed the hostages."

"Not possible. They'd know. And if they didn't, they'd still be after Artemis. Or your _not-_Artemis."

"Meaning?"

"We end the chain."

"This is the Mafia, boy," The Major said knowingly. "Their chain hasn't got an end."

"Then we cut it off at the highest link we can reach."

* * *

**INSIDE MAFIA SAFEHOUSE**

Juliet was not _scared_, exactly, when the head of the Russian Mafia entered the room, but she did feel a sense of dread as the smart shoes clacked into the room and the imposing man stood in front of her and Zory with a sneer on his face.

"_**Well, what have we got here? Bring along a friend to the party did you, Master Fowl?"**_

Juliet rolled her eyes, about the only way she could show her contempt, bound as she was with her mouth sealed shut with masking tape. Britva saw the motion and kicked her in the ribs. Hard. The blow knocked her onto her side where she lay on her arm awkwardly. Zory inhaled sharply, but Juliet didn't even whimper, if anything her eyes hardened and she glared up at the leader of the Mafia.

"_**If you learn one thing before I kill you, girl, it will be to show good manners to your host," **_Britva snapped. _**"Now then, Fowl. You thought you could trick me, did you? Thought you could get away with your little joke, did you?"**_

Zory didn't answer. For one, he was not called Artemis and besides, he too had been bound and gagged by the Mafia henchmen.

"_**Well I don't find vanishing money funny, Fowl. And I will make sure I get my payment, in money or blood. Possibly both, if I feel that way. Now, what do you think your daddy would say if I gave him a little call to tell him I found you? I heard you ran away, didn't you? Won't he be pleased when I let him know you're nice and safe here with me?"**_ Britva asked, taking out a phone from his long, trailing coat.

It was programmed with many numbers, Fowl's included. He'd finally got hold of the man's personal mobile when he had used it to phone for a taxi service in West Dublin two weeks ago. Ridiculously insecure, ordinary phonelines. It had been simple really. And _public transport_. Really? Perhaps the ex-crimelord really had changed as much as the rumours stated. Either way, it made no odds to Britva, so long as he got his revenge. And a ransom for his son should do nicely. For starters.

"_**You are Artemis Fowl, aren't you?"**_ Britva asked mockingly. **_"Let's be done with your fairy-stories now."_**

Zory shook his head slowly. The action seemed to enrage Britva and suddenly he leapt forward, dealing a cracking blow to the side of the teenager's head.

"_**Don't lie to me, boy!"**_ he roared.

Zory shook his head again and again until Britva was leant over him like some predatory ape, inches from his face. The man reached out and tore the tape from his lips, leaving them red raw. Zory gasped and breathed through his mouth for the first time in hours.

"_**What is this achieving?"**_ Britva settled back on his haunches. _**"No answer, from the little genius? Well let me tell you, Fowl. The answer is nothing. So why don't you just admit who you are and we can get this over with quickly, yes? I am not having you spouting out that you aren't who we all know you are once I get talking to your father."**_

"_**I'm not Artemis Fowl,"**_ Zory said in a hoarse whisper. _**"You've made a mistake."**_

"_**I am Britva, lord of the Mafia!"**_ the man roared, leaping to his feet. _**"I do not make mistakes! And you are a lying piece of shit who is going to make me much richer before the night is out!"**_

But he _had_ made a mistake. As had the three of his henchmen in the room. Whilst he had been beating Zory, no-one had been watching Juliet. And, in an impressive display of strength, she flipped from her side onto her knees, pushed back into the wall behind her and onto her feet before leaping two-footed into Britva's back and sending them both crashing to the floor. The tape on her mouth came loose and she yelled to Zory as the men hauled her off their boss.

"_**Just say you're Artemis. Just say you're him!"**_ she shouted in Russian at him.

She knew the stupid action could've got her killed, but since she was fairly sure they were both going to be dead within the next half-an-hour anyway now that Britva had arrived she had wanted to get one last shot in before she went out. Even if it shortened her life by a few minutes. If they didn't, Dom would kill her for disobeying all of her kidnap training, but she had waited and he hadn't made an appearance yet. At least if Zory told them he was Artemis, they would ring the other Fowls and then at least _someone_ would know there was something going on. It might also get him tortured, but if they weren't going to believe he was who he said he was anyway, there wasn't much point in continuing down that route.

Britva leapt up, nursing his wrist. He had hit the floor heavily, a healed injury a decade or so older than the girl who had crashed into him, re-breaking on impact.

He swore at her in Russian, kicking her until finally she stopped smiling at him in bitter victory and lay still. The henchmen cowered as he turned furiously to face them.

"_**There will be no repetition to anyone of this incident,"**_ he intoned darkly. _**"Or else I may decide to withdraw my forgiveness of you for letting it happen, understood?"**_

The men nodded. As if any one of them would be stupid enough to retell the story of their boss getting downed by a tied-up, teenage girl.

**_"Lyubkhin, bring the boy upstairs,"_** Britva ordered, gritting his teeth at the pain. **_"Vassikin, kill the girl."_**

The man stepped forward eagerly, drawing a gun.

**_"Slowly,"_ **the Menidzher added.**_ "And try to find out who she is before you cut out her tongue. I want to know who to send condolences to."_**

And with that parting statement, he marched from the room, coat sweeping behind him, Lyubkhin dragging Zory after him.

* * *

**Righty-ho, hope that was alright for you. Anyone sense another fight-scene coming up...? :)**

**Wolfy  
ooo  
O**

**23-06-12**


	16. Blood is Thicker than Water

**Thanks to: _Crazy Female LEPrecon, Shadow Huntress, Sandd, 2whitie, Alchemechanist, Steinbock_ and _Fowl Star 57_ for the reviews - you're all ace and keep me adding more to this fic. (Seriously, I edit everything at least twice before it goes up and the word count has pretty-much doubled with all the good responses I've had!)**

**WARNINGS: Swearing, spilt blood... stuff like that. (Mostly from Juliet...)**

**Well, without further ado, onwards!**

* * *

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

_**Blood is Thicker than Water**_

It hadn't taken more than two minutes to crack the door to the inner building. Apparently the Mafia hadn't considered the fact that anyone would break in through the garage. It was a fault Fowl Manor itself had fallen foul of once before - twice, if a certain dwarf's breach of the house through the wine cellar could be included in the same category. And yes, Butler still held quite a grudge over the little man for that, and the following, incident. Then again, at least human's didn't tunnel their way into places. Or at least not often, anyway.

And so they were in.

But that didn't mean they were safe. Far from it. They had just walked into the lion's lair. It was lucky they were, as a certain female LEPrecon had once described the younger of the pair, as close as they could get to wolves with big handguns.

The Major didn't exactly_ like_ his nephew's plan, but it wasn't as though they had a choice. And so long as he got Zory out safe, he didn't really care. No. Zory _and_ Juliet. _And_ the man inching his way carefully along the corridor in front of him. He deserved to live too. The Major knew that. But still, the_ feeling_ wasn't there. He felt nowhere near the level of burning determination to keep either of the other two alive as he felt when he thought of Zory. When he looked at the man claiming to be his nephew, it was as though he only cared because he had been told he had to do so. And for some reason the feeling was familiar. So he was a bodyguard in his past life, was he? That would make sense. He should be well used to protecting without caring. Risking his life for payment. Risking everything for mere packets of paper seemed stupid now. There _must_ have been another reason he'd ended up in the midst of an explosion and washed up on a Russian beach with his mind empty of a lifetime of memories.

Had it not been for inbuilt training, their rescue attempt might have ended there, for up ahead a door was thrust open and both Butlers dived into the nearest door. It opened, mercifully, and they crammed into the space beyond, hauling the door behind them and holding their breaths as the other door slammed shut and they heard the sound of people walking and someone being dragged.

"_**Please, sir! I don't know who you want but I'm not him. I swear I'm not him I swear..."**_

The Major froze.

"That's Zory," he whispered in the darkness.

"_**Well we'll see what your father thinks, shall we Fowl?"**_

"_**My father is dead. I have no parents. My grandfather brought me up and…"**_

There was a crack of skin hitting skin and Butler grabbed his uncle's shoulder, squeezing down hard his suprascapular nerve in order to keep him from ripping open the door... and possibly the throat of whoever was on the other side.

"_**Would you like me to silence him, Mr. Britva?" **_a voice rumbled.

_Britva, henchman, Zory, Juliet,_ Butler counted the people in the building. _Plus... another unlimited number of gang members..._

"_**No, no. Leave him for now. His denigrations amuse me."**_

The voices rose upwards but still Butler made them wait until they heard footsteps pass overhead before they moved. Had he known what was happening to his sister in the next room, he wouldn't have waited.

* * *

There were two men in the room with Juliet. One who sat, bored on a plastic chair and the other, Vassikin who stood in front of her, eyeing her critically.

"_**So. Who are you, little girl?"**_

Juliet stayed silent. Partly because answering would be pointless anyway and also because, since the age of four, she had refused to answer to the term_ 'little girl'_, in whatever language it she was referred to it in.

"_**Fine. You won't talk? We can make you talk."**_

Juliet doubted that greatly. She was a student of Ko. That, added to her stubborn nature, made her more than just a tough nut to crack. Even so, when the man grabbed the front of her shirt and hauled her to her knees, she felt a shiver of fear pass through her blood. She very quickly quelled it. Butlers didn't feel fear.

"_**Now. Who are you?"**_

Nothing.

"_**Who. Are. You?"**_

The man sighed and reached into his boot, drawing a slim flick-blade from his boot and snapping it open with a sharp _snick_. The light glinted off the blade and the man smiled slightly.

"_**You know, I like this knife. Do you want to know why?"**_

Juliet stayed silent and started counting in her head. _1…2…3…4...5…6…_

Focus on something else and the pain will become a background feature. Like the shadows around them. Like the humming of the heating system in her ears. Like the light smell of sweat in her nostrils.

"_**Well I'll tell you why. Just look at it. Smooth edges, narrow… she's delicate. I would go as far as to say beautiful. Shame we won't be saying the same about you when I'm done."**_

He held the edge of the blade against her cheek and nicked the soft flesh. A rivulet of blood trickled down her jaw, which she clenched silently. Too late, she realised she should've screamed. She should have pretended she wasn't trained.

The man's eyebrows shot up in surprise. _**"Huh. Seems we've caught ourselves a shark..."**_

"_**A shark?"**_ asked the man on the chair, suddenly more interested.

"_**A trained one,"**_ Vassikin muttered the explanation, moving the knife to the top of Juliet's arm and slicing her sleeve open. Bare white flesh filled the gap and for the first time ever, Juliet was _glad_ her shoulder was unmarked. To kill a blue-diamond bodyguard was considered one of the highest achievements by their enemies. _**"No tattoo though. I thought she could be a Butler, with the look of the big guy she was with at the house, but she's no diamond."**_

There was a crash from outside and Vassikin jumped back. Juliet felt her heart-rate pick up.

"_**Who goes there?"**_

No answer.

"_**Go and check what that was," **_Vassikin snapped, gesturing to his understudy.

Reluctantly, the man got up off his chair and slouched to the door, tucking his gun into the back of his trousers. That was his first mistake. His second was neglecting to check the spy-hole before he opened the door.

* * *

It was the younger Butler who heard the voices first, but the elder who prevented him from bursting into the room without a plan.

"You're not thinking straight. Calm down. What are you supposed to do?" he asked in a hissed whisper, grabbing his nephew's shoulders and pushing him against the wall firmly.

"_Kill_ the bastard," Butler snarled.

"Yes, that too, but…"

"Let. _Go_." Butler growled warningly. He didn't _want_ to hurt his uncle, but that wasn't to say he wasn't going to if it came to it.

"Stop it," The Major shook him slightly. Something in his memory was screaming about preparation, planning. Being sure of your opponents before you rushed in blindly. "If she's your sister then she's my niece too. Either way, I want her out of there as soon as possible, but rushing in isn't going to help anything. Now what are we _supposed_ to do?"

Butler struggled against the hold, but his bodyguarding side was screaming at him and he suddenly felt his stomach give an uneasy clench at the thought of his amnesiac uncle remembering aspects of their training before him. He bored his gaze into the floor. His emotions were getting in the way. And that could be fatal. He took a deep breath through his nose and when he looked up, his eyes were as cold and as dark as ever.

"Good," nodded The Major, seeing the difference instantly. "Now. Tell me what we would normally do in this kind of situation."

* * *

Students of Madam Ko's Bodyguarding Academy were taught from the very first week of their training that hitting a person in the head wasn't the most effective hit. The skull was designed to block blows and protect the most vital of the body's organs. And to hit it with something designed to manipulate tools, like a hand, was not the brightest idea - even if those hands _were_ trained to kill. It was a brainbox. Solid and hard to crack.

The neck, however, wasn't.

And so that was where Butler hit. With most of his considerable force – only holding back to stop himself from tumbling through the door fist first after his opponent. The man flew backwards into the room, landed heavily on his backside and hacked one short breath of surprise before Butler's boot used his chest as a springboard and kept right on going.

But Vassikin was quick, if not entirely smart, and had his hostage up by the back of her jacket, knife flicked open and pressed against her neck until a single drop of blood trickled down into the collar of her shirt. Juliet struggled furiously but with her hands and feet tied she could barely stay upright and the knife nicked deeper. She stopped moving, eyes wide at the sight of the man who burst through the door. The crimson staining her front might as well of reflected the fury in her brother's eyes as a gun materialised in his hand and he levelled it at the kidnapper, taking in every detail instantly, his trained brain analysing every factor, keeping the hostage as an unknown entity in order to keep his mind clear of emotion.

"_**Stop - or I slit her throa…"**_ Vassikin began warningly.

But he never finished his threat.

Butler shot him right between the eyes.

Blood and gore hit the wall behind them and Juliet flung the arm holding the knife away from herself – just a fraction too late. She clamped a hand over the wound and bounced once away from the body. A person with lesser balance than she might have fallen, not that it mattered anyway, Butler was immediately by her side, barely giving the room a second glance for more hostiles before placing his own huge hand firmly over his sister's. There was no need to check Vassikin for vitals. Not with that amount of brain matter on the outside of his skull.

"Hey bro…" she croaked, looking up at him as he folded her gently onto the floor. "You came for us."

"Hush. Hush Jules," Butler smoothed his sister's forehead with his other hand. "It's OK. I'm here. I'm here now."

_I should've been here earlier. I should've made it here quicker. I should have…_

"I know. It's gonna be ok... right?" she said, feeling her neck carefully.

"Don't move that," her brother said firmly, drawing his own knife and freeing her wrists and ankles one-handedly.

"I don't think it's as bad as it looks. It doesn't hurt like someone just slit my throat. I can still breathe fine."

"You're sure?" he asked cautiously, although she was talking almost normally, which meant there was no blood entering her trachea, he was still worried the knife could have hit a vital blood vessel.

"Yeah stop worrying," she smiled shakily and pried his hand away gently before moving her own. She was right. Although there was a neat slice out of her throat that was slowly leaking blood, the knife hadn't hit her jugular and wasn't bleeding profusely. She had been lucky. Had her brother hesitated for even a second, Vassikin would've killed her outright and gone for his gun. He never would've reached it, of course. And the result for Vassikin would've been the same, only then Juliet would've been dead too.

"Are you ok?" Butler asked her, determined to assure that she was. "Genuinely. Don't give me that 'I'm fine' crap. Injuries list. Now."

"Bruised ribs, maybe one or two cracks. Obvious neck thing. Bust lip. That's about it really..."

Butler breathed out slowly in quiet relief. If _anything_ ever happened to her... He brought his head to hers in what may have been described as a mild form of headbutt by others, but had been Juliet's preferred way of sharing affection from an early age.

"Did I scare you?" she mumbled, burrowing her head into his shoulder.

"No," Butler said, letting go of her and standing. "I just wanted to make sure you didn't take out the _whole_ Mafia by yourself."

"Yeah, sure," she chuckled. "How'd you find me?"

"Brotherly instinct," Butler said drily, helping her to her feet.

"Bullshit. You had help. I bet you beat the… _Look out!_" she grabbed his arm and he span round, gun already aimed at the doorway where a large shadow was silhouetted, guarding the unconscious man on the floor.

"_Steady,_ Dom," The Major rumbled, raising his arms. "It's only me."

"Oh my God... Is that... _Uncle?_" Juliet gasped, steadying herself on the wall.

"Wait. _What_ did you just call me?" Butler asked, trying to lessen his spike in adrenaline.

"I… think I called you_ 'Dom'_. My apologies," The Major said quietly, then turned to his niece. "And yes, I believe so. Hello, Juliet."

Juliet choked as though she was about to either cry or scream and sprinted across the room, hurling herself onto her uncle's broad chest.

"You idiot! You fucking_ idiot_," she cried, smacking him repeatedly and, it had to be admitted, considerably painfully. "I thought you were _dead!_"

"Juliet! Language!" The Major admonished automatically, pushing her shoulders back and holding her at arm's length. Her arms were shorter than his, which at least meant she couldn't reach him to punch him, although she could probably still kick him in several places if she felt like it.

"Uncle, I'm nineteen now. I think I can get away with a bit of swearing," she choked, scrubbing her face with the heel of her palm to hide any escaped tears.

The Major sighed slightly at that. In his fragmented memories, his niece was never more than a newly-turned teenager. "Nevertheless, I do _not_ want to hear that language coming out of your mouth, young lady."

Juliet laughed quietly. "Only you can call me 'young lady' and get away with it."

"Yeah. Everyone else gets the shit kicked out of them for it," Butler muttered, checking the pulse of the man he had hit first. He was still alive so Butler scouted around for spare tie-wraps and started to secure him to the radiator. Then he stopped and rooted in one of the numerous pockets of his jacket. "Here Jules, clean up and stick one of these over your neck with some tape."

Juliet turned and took the sterile padding and duct tape from her brother, pressing one pad onto her neck firmly and wincing.

"Here, let me help."

"I can do it myself, thanks," Juliet grumbled, but she let her uncle wipe at the blood with an alcohol-wipe and rip off a strip of duct-tape with his teeth to stick the spare pad over the wound.

"When was your last tetanus jab?" The Major asked concernedly.

"Four years ago but..."

"You should probably get another one when you get ba..."

"I thought you were dead," she interrupted him angrily. "Why didn't you come back? Why didn't you _tell us_ you were alive?"

The Major looked at the girl in front of him. He felt like he was on the brink of remembering. It was like holding his hand close to a freshly polished car on a hot day and waiting for the static spark to strike. The same blond hair as always, only not in pigtails as his blurred, fractured memories informed him they once were. The eyes, glaring at him and shining with stubbornly held back tears, were very familiar. He looked out through ones just like them daily. Only hers were lighter in colour than the males of her family. He reached out a hand and gently ran a thumb over her cheek.

"What?" Juliet asked, grabbing the hand. It was odd. Her uncle was being… _affectionate?_ That wasn't the man she remembered. "What's wrong?"

"Memory loss," he put it bluntly, which half put her at ease. He was never one for wasting precious time sugar-coating important information. He pointed roughly in the area of the dent in his head that spoke silently of the cause of his problems. "Since you two appeared, well… it's coming back to me... slowly."

"You don't remember me, do you?" Juliet asked quietly.

"No. Not entirely," The Major admitted truthfully.

"Oh. Right," she muttered, thoroughly miffed that the second most important person in her life could barely remember her name.

"Don't take it personally, Jules," her brother said from the floor, zipping the cords tight around the unconscious-man's wrists and scouring the room for cameras, weaponry, people, or anything else that could be perceived as a threat. "He tried to kill me earlier."

"You're not still sore about that, are you?" The Major sighed, running a hand over his short hair. "I apologised, didn't I?"

"No, actually, you didn't," Butler frowned. He would've remembered something_ that_ unusual occurring.

"No, you're right," The Major admitted. "I didn't. Grow a pair would you, boy? You still have all your limbs, don't you?"

"Now _that's_ the Uncle I remember," Juliet grinned.

In fact it was even _better_ than the uncle she remembered, who had been cantankerous and tetchy for 90% of the time. This was The Major who was their _proper_ uncle, rather than The Major, bodyguard to Artemis Fowl the First.

As she smiled, despite the blood marring her features, the years fell away and her uncle, smiling back at her, almost fell over with the force of the cascade of memories that filled his head from the unknown place they were kept captive.

_A scared little girl hiding behind her brother's legs - then bravely stepping forward._

_Her first day at an Irish school - coming home with a chunk of hair missing._

_The time she tried to make him breakfast in bed on his birthday - and nearly ended up being shot._

_Getting in trouble at school for climbing onto the basketball net in the gym - and refusing to come down for two hours._

_The first time she knocked her brother off his feet sparring - granted, rope was involved and she wasn't blindfolded._

_The first time she fired a gun - and hit the target first time too._

_Getting in trouble for fighting with a group of bullies three years older than her whilst protecting someone in her own class - and winning._

_The first time she hit him off his feet sparring - granted, she had been practising that move for weeks and it involved the use of a large stick._

_The first time he tried to teach her how to drive - and had nearly ended up pranging a ten grand car._

_All the training she'd done from the earliest of ages - to get to just how good she was now..._

"Juliet," he murmured. "The littlest diamond."

"That's me," she said softly, smiling at him.

There was a thud from upstairs, the moment shattered and the trio stiffened, snapping into alertness and listening hard.

"Zory," The Major breathed, heading for the door.

"Woah, slow down," Butler reached it first. "Think first."

"Hypocrite," The Major growled, trying to push past him.

"Exactly," said Butler firmly, still blocking the way. "And, as usual, you were right."

The Major almost snorted at that. "I believe Ko was a firm believer in the fact that flattery gets you nowhere."

"Yes. Only she wasn't quite so polite about it."

"Just shut it and let's go."

Butler checked the coast was clear and they edged out into the corridor together.

"Did I miss something?" Juliet smirked, in spite of the situation. Any tension between her male relatives always amused her. It was like watching two bears square up, complete with grumbling and paw-swinging at eachother.

"No," both of them snapped, immediately revealing that indeed she _had_.

"You know, Ko doesn't approve of bullshitting either," she whispered.

But neither of them replied with anything other than a grunt and together they stepped silently up the stairs towards an imposing door.

The Butlers were a team again.

Heaven help the people on the other side of that door.

* * *

**Yes, I realise this is the third or fourth chapter in a row where something bloody messy has occurred, but I did warn you at the start that this fic was darker. Hopefully the Butler-y-ness makes up for it :)**

**And yes, I will be continuing to reference my other fics throughout this one. **

**(_Whaaat?_ They're all in the same Wolfy-Universe-Canon-Timeline as eachother, why not? There's even some references to ones waiting to get written and/or posted as a Lil' Rem' or something. Not that I'm pre-emptively *shamlessly-self-advertising* or anything...)**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Wolfy**  
**ooo**  
** O**


	17. Going Down Swinging

**Thanks to: _Sandd, Shadow Huntress, Crazy Female LEP, 2whitie, Fowl Star 57 _and****_ Steinbock _for the reviews and to _Hooey_ for the author-fave. Means a lot that you all take the time to let me know I'm doing good :)**

**WARNINGS: Swearing, violence, deaths etc.**

**This chapter is pretty jam-packed, fast-paced and brings the story to a point, so enjoy!**

**Update at an early random time today rather than tomorrow evening just because I felt like it :)**

**Onwards!**

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

_**Going Down Swinging**_

As it happened, on the other side of the door, was the leader of the Russian Mafia, his right-hand man and a nervous-looking boy.

Put more accurately, Zory was sat on, or rather_ tied to,_ a chair opposite Britva and between them there was a large mahogany desk, on which there was a mobile phone. Old style, too. Britva hated touch-screens almost as much as he hated slippery enemies such as the 'Fowl boy' before him.

There was the sound of a muffled gunshot from downstairs and Britva raised an eyebrow.

_**"Well, that did not take as long as I thought it would."**_

Lyubkhin laughed slightly. Mikhael Vassikin was always quick to shoot first and ask questions later, but he was surprised the girl had cracked sooner than her previous actions had suggested she would.

"_**So then, Fowl," **_Britva began, nursing his injured wrist for a while before placing his hands on the desk._ **"Shall we phone home?"**_

"_**I'm not Artemis Fowl," **_Zory tried for the final time._ **"Please belie…"**_

Britva motioned with his hand and the man behind Zory clouted him soundly on the side of the head.

"_**Enough. It was amusing, now it is irritating," **_Britva snapped, selecting a contact from the phone's scroll-down list _**"Now let's see how funny your father finds it."**_

Zory sat there silently. What else was he supposed to do? When the father of the person he was supposed to be answered the phone, should he speak? His English was better than it had been when Art had first washed ashore, but it was by no means good enough to hold a conversation that would convince a native speaker that he was his son. What would happen to him when the Mafia boss realised that he had indeed made a mistake after all?

"Sir," he tried in English to prove that his accent was all wrong for an Irish teen. "I speak only little English. I am not..."

Lyubkhin backhanded him so hard the chair fell over and Zory lay on the floor helplessly, a single tear trickling onto the carpet. It smelt of something metallic, which he fearful suspected was blood, barely overpowered by the strong scent of an industrial cleaner.

**_"Pick him up!" _**Britva snapped again.**_ "And do not hit him so hard again until we have the money from his father. I don't mind sending him back brain-damaged, but if he doesn't talk then Fowl is, or at least was, a callous man and he will not pay money for a mentally-disabled child he doesn't believe is his son."_**

**_"Yes, sir,"_** Lyubkhin said, righting the chair and boy easily and hissing into his ear.**_ "You are lucky Mr. Britva is so merciful, Fowl."_**

Zory felt himself shaking involuntarily. Some part of him couldn't believe that this was the way he was going to die. He'd never go to a medical college. Never be a doctor. He'd never so much as step aboard _The Cormorant_ again. He'd never see his grandfather or Art. In fact he would never see anything other than the four walls he was enclosed in now. And he knew, with a distinct air of finality, that the last face he would ever see would be Britva's. Cold and hardened to ending lives. Perhaps even laughing. Zory swallowed the lump in his throat, almost choking on it. He would not cry. He pushed his shoulders back onto the chair and sat straight. He would face his enemy like a man and die with honour if he had to. Although not at all would of course be preferable...

And then someone knocked heavily on the door.

That had Britva freezing, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the_ 'Call'_ button and Lyubkhin reaching for his gun.

_**"Idiot, Vassikin. Interrupting my business like this. I knew there was a reason I was going to kill him when this affair is over," **_Britva muttered testily.

**_"Would you like me to shoot him, sir?" _**Lyubkhin mimed his intentions with his fingers.

**_"Well, you better check who it is first. If it's Vassikin shoot him in the kneecap. If it's that other man, anywhere that won't bleed too much on the carpet. They need to learn not to bother Britva when he is busy,"_** the Mafia boss ordered his companion, who turned to the door, pressing his face against it to peer through the peep hole.

And that exact moment, when the man had his forehead mere centimetres from the wood, was when the door flew inwards as though propelled on gas cylinders, straight into the unsuspecting Mafia henchman's face. He was flattened under it as a shape burst in, immediately rolling to one side and immediately followed by two more shapes which covered the rest of the room with their handguns. The Mafia bodyguard, Lyubkhin, scrabbled from under the door but Butler stopped him before he could even go for his gun.

_**"Don't even think about it," **_he growled.

The man spat a cuss at him, but placed his hands on the back of his head, his eyes still flickering for a way out of the situation. Butler noted that the man didn't even look at his 'charge' to check his safety, but he supposed that when your principal was the lord of the Mafia, they didn't need looking after nearly as much as a hapless junior businessman-come-crimelord.

To his credit, Britva barely jumped. Instead he sat back in his chair and began a slow, careful applause.

**_"Bravo. Bravo indeed. Butlers, I assume. All of you?"_**

Zory couldn't see who it was without turning and he certainly didn't want to look away from Britva. Butlers? Who were Butlers? Had they come to save him, or was he just in the right - or possibly _wrong_, depending on how this turned out - place at the right time?

The Butlers didn't answer Britva and one of them stepped forward and took a knife from his boot, freeing Zory quickly and checking him over, his gun never wavering from the boss's forehead as he did.

"Are you alright?" he asked, accidently in English.

The voice was familiar, even though he barely heard it make sounds in that language. He dared to look and there, right next to him, was his friend.

"_**Art? What… where did you… how?" **_Zory gabbled, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste to get away from the desk.

_**"No questions just yet. Let's get out of here first."**_

Art seemed different somehow. Less unsure of himself. More confident in what he was doing. More... _calculated_ in his actions. He had always been distant but somehow he seemed colder. Like a professional providing a service. Zory wasn't sure he liked it, but he wasn't about to complain if they were here to save his life. He turned and saw, to his surprise, Juliet standing with a gun, her face a mask of grim determination, blood all over her face and neck. He tried to catch her eye but it was as though she too had a switch that changed her from the cheerful, friendly Juliet she had been whilst trying to comfort him earlier into a trained killer. He remembered how she had leapt at Britva with no fear for her own life and ducked his head in shame. He wished he could be more like that.

_**"More like no answers, eh? Don't you know it isn't polite to ignore your host?"**_

Zory expected a response, perhaps from the man who stood by the door, a younger version of Art and the stoniest-looking of the lot. But Butlers are trained never to engage in idle chit-chat with their enemy and so Britva continued his monologue alone.

"_**Ah, silent ones. Definitely Butlers. Although I must admit, a girl? Really? That's unusual in your family, isn't it," **_Britva asked, slowly reaching his hands towards his body as though about to plunge them into his pockets. **_"I presumed you drowned them at birth if you didn't need them for... breeding."_**

Despite the sickness of the statement, the room stayed silent.

**_"I am surprised you are still alive, by the way," _**Britva aimed at Juliet.**_ "Vassikin must be getting old."_**

**_"Well he won't be getting any older," _**Juliet muttered, eyes trained on the moving hands.

**_"Ah a jester!"_** Britva laughed. **_"Hear that, Lyubkhin? Perhaps we should keep her after I kill the others. Buy her a little hat with bells on, yes?"_**

Lyubkin, blood pouring down his face from a broken nose, said nothing.

Regardless, Britva's 'distraction' did not work in the way he intended.

"_**Hands on the table,"**_ Butler growled, trying to watch the man on the floor and the Mafia boss at the same time. It was at times like this, he really wished he had_ two_ favourite guns. Of course, he could have used others - but that would leave his hands full, which was never a good thing in the long run.

"_**Fine, fine. If you insist."**_

Britva moved his hands slowly towards the table and all Butler's tensed, at least two trying not to allow their full attention to be drawn towards the movement. For surely it was another distrac...

Lyubhkin moved quickly, going for his belt and instantly Butler shot him in the chest, rendering the man crippled by pain, but not dead yet. Unfortunately the second or so it took to take the shot allowed Britva's hands to flash forward and hook two guns from their holsters under the desk's surface.

The Major, preoccupied with Zory, could do little about the fact, but Juliet fired a bullet which narrowly missed when the man dodged, ending up pointing one gun at Butler and the other at Juliet.

That left two of their guns on Britva and Butler's on the injured man.

This was not good. They had just lost the advantage they had. But then again, they had expected such moves. Britva did not become top man in the Mafia by being useless.

**_"Now, it appears we are at a stalemate."_**

**_"Hardly," _**The Major said, covering Zory.**_"Even if you shoot the two of us, there's still the third."_**

**_"But won't you just run? Isn't that what they teach you at that little bodyguarding school of yours? Protect the Master. God, you people are like dogs! You'd let your family die before you put your charge in danger, wouldn't you?"_**

The Major said nothing, instead just levelled his weapon at a point between Britva's eyes.

"_**Stay behind me Zory,"**_ he muttered under his breath. _**"There's another gun in my belt. Get it."**_

"_**But Art, I don't know how to shoot…"**_ Zory whispered worriedly, reaching under his friend's jacket and loosing the gun carefully. His hands were shaking violently and he fumbled it, snatching at the metal and holding it as best he could in both hands. Art would not be impressed if he lost a buttock to careless handling...

"_**Just take it and wave it at anyone who tries to kill you," **_The Major told him in slight exasperation, never once looking away from the target.

"_**Huh, not so professional after all,"**_ Britva mused, his voice calm but his eyes flicking from side to side. Lyubkhin was groaning slightly and probably wasn't going to be of much use in overpowering these intruders. He would have to do something about the situation himself. Which wasn't entirely unusual. He cursed the unprofessional actions of his men and calculated just how quickly he could get a third shot off after dispatching of the first two, continuing the mindless chatter as he did so. _**"What kind of bodyguard doesn't teach his charge the basics of gun handling?"**_

"_**Who says he's my charge?"**_ The Major asked. _**"Besides, he doesn't need to shoot anyone."**_

_**"No, that's your job, correct?"**_

No answer required, they were clearly Blue-Diamonds. Bodyguards of the highest calibre. Still, they all ended up the same when you forced bullets into them.

_**"Do I get a chance to plead for my life?"**_ Britva asked mockingly._ **"Or is that too, what would you people say... 'Hollywood?'"**_

_**"Co-operate and maybe we'll think of leaving you alive."**_

_**"Bullshit, my friend. I either kill you all, or I am dead myself. I know that. But it amuses me. I am getting on in years. Time to pass on the crown, perhaps. Although I do not plan to die like this. I want to live to spend my money. Don't we all?"**_

_**"So negotiate,"**_ Butler said shortly. **_"Friend."_**

**_"Negotiate. He's funny too,"_ **Britva chuckled lowly to The Major. _**"See, I don't normally 'negotiate'. Then again, I do not normally find myself in situations like this. What do I have to bargain with, you ask? How about your lives. Soon, my men will return and then perhaps you will not be so cocky."**_

_**"I doubt it,"**_ Juliet spoke up._ **"Considering most of them are dead."**_

_**"Quiet girl, it is time for the men to talk."**_

Juliet gritted her teeth. But she would not react to taunts, sexist or otherwise. She knew better than to let her concentration slip.

Butler on the other hand had tired of the talking. The only reason he hadn't shot Britva already was that he would never be able to live with himself if Juliet ended up dead simply because he couldn't think of a better way to diffuse the situation. He tried to catch his uncle's eye, but the eldest Butler was busy ensuring Zory was safe. They all knew what should happen here. The Major should get Zory out, leaving the rest of his family to face down Britva until back-up arrived. The problem? They had no back-up. And their enemy probably did. Too many unknown variables clouded a clear solution to their situation. They'd have to improvise.

**_"Funny, isn't it? How there are more of you and yet I am still in control of the situation."_**

**_"I wouldn't call it 'control'. If you know about us, then you know our training."_**

**_"Yes, and I know your problem, Butlers. You're scared of which one of you I'm going to shoot first," _**Britva said, jiggling his pistols slightly and making the Butlers' fingers creak on their triggers.

"**_We've taken bullets before. It won't kill us,"_** Butler said coldly. **_"You, on the other hand…"_**

"**_Fine. Play it that way then,"_** Britva said, scowling. **_"I can still shoot one of you before I die. Now. Do I shoot the young lady, or is my last act going to be to kill one more diamond, before I leave this world?"_**

The diamonds in question weren't listening to the threats or the boasts that he had killed others of their kind before. In silent communication, they were making their decision.

_**"Come on, Zory. We're moving,"** _The Major said calmly, backing his temporary charge towards the now door-less doorway, checking the corridor was clear with a quick twitch of his head before completely blocking Zory from danger with his body.

**_"Don't move,"_** Britva warned, gun wavering between The Major and Juliet. **_"I said don't move."_**

**_"Or what?"_**

Britva seemed to suddenly realise he didn't have an answer to that, but that didn't stop him talking. Or acting as he did.

**_"Fine. Have it your way. And before the end of the night we shall all be dead,"_** he snapped, dropping one of the handguns and slamming his fist up onto something, presumably a button, under the desk.

The clatter of the handgun on the wood almost had the youngest Butler firing but she held back, waiting for her brother's move first.

**_"Boss no..."_** Lyubkhin started weakly, dragging himself to his knees and starting to crawl for the exit.**_ "Don't..."_**

_**"Do not contradict me,"** _Britva yelled.

Butler kept his gun on the man dragging himself across the floor, but didn't shoot yet. He wanted to know exactly _what _had the man defying Britva.

**_"You're insane," _**Lyubkhin croaked, coughing up blood.**_ "You will kill us all!"_**

**_"Well that is the point, you fool,_**" Britva laughed cruelly and lowered his gun from Butler's chest to his own man, shooting him dead instantly.

And so it was his own callous disregard for life that brought about the end of the current Mafia kingpin. His plan of distracting the Butlers with one shot and killing one of them with the second didn't quite work out as he had planned.

He fired the two bullets in quick succession, the first finding its mark in Lyubkhin, the second piercing the bullet-proof vest of the middle Butler. Almost instantaneously and without any prior communication, three bullets hit him, one after the other in the chest and neck. Afterwards, none of them would claim the kill shot. It was always easier not to know. What mattered was that he was dead, and they were not.

Britva let out a gargled gasp and tried to bring his gun arm round fast enough to shoot The Major as well as his nephew. Instead he fell forwards and landed heavily on the desk. Gun and mobile-phone clattered to the floor and Britva's fingers stretched after them for a second before lying still and limp and lifeless over the edge of the desk, the wood being steadily stained a deeper crimson.

The silence after gunshots is always the most deafening.

Which was why it was such a surprise when they found they could hear something strangely familiar.

"Is that a phone?" Juliet whispered, as though afraid to break the quiet.

But even as she spoke and the others considered it, the double _'brrp-brrp'_ was cut off and an Irish accent called out.

_"Hello?"_

Everybody froze.

The Major, closest to the phone, looked at it as though it was a grenade with the pin pulled.

"Answer it – tell them wrong number," Butler told him, stepping over the body on the floor and flipping Britva over to check for vitals. He didn't trust the man as far as he could throw him when he had been alive - he wasn't about to trust him not to snap awake and shoot one of them now he was 'dead'.

The Major crouched and reached out for the phone, picking it up carefully and reading the name on the screen. After a few seconds, he held it to his ear.

_"Hello?"_ the voice said again.

The voice brought a fresh wave of memories, a baby wrapped in a blanket, a toddler gripping his forefingers tightly as he took his first wobbling steps, a small, dark-haired boy wobbling a tooth with his tongue as he tried to read-aloud, the same boy falling from a tree and into his arms, a moody teenager telling him he wasn't needed for the first time, the same teenager sobbing into his shirt at the loss of his first love, a proud man tentatively showing him a sparkling ring and asking him if he approved, the same man standing next to a woman in white in a church, the man, his charge, standing next to a hospital bed staring into an incubator at his newborn son, turning to him with an awestruck expression, years later, patting his son on the head as he left and calling some words of wisdom to him, getting on a boat together, staring out to sea, the feeling of helplessness when the rocket speared through the sky towards them, him throwing the pair of them clear from the crippled ship, landing in the water and hauling him onto some debris. The helpless certainty that there was nothing else he could do...

_My name, is Myles Domovoi Butler, twin brother of Beckett Julius Butler, son of Alexandr Urs Butler, bodyguard of Artemis Angelo Fowl the First._

The Major felt the now familiar pain of returning memories pierce his conciousness and he clamped his eyes shut against it.

_"Hello? Can you hear me? Is anybody there?"_

The Major snapped out of it. "Uh… apologies, sir. Wrong number."

He crushed the button to end the call and dropped the phone as though it were made of hot metal.

Butler glanced at the rare, shocked look on his uncle's face and decided to save concern for later.

As it was, Zory dished some out for the lot of them.

**_"Art? Are you OK?"_** he asked, trying hard not to look at either of the bodies in the room and failing._ 'Morbid fascination',_ was what they called it. He held back a retch from his queasy stomach that stuck somewhere in his throat. Being interested in the medical profession, he was well aware he would have to deal with... _deceased people_. Perhaps even very recently so. But most probably _not_ in this manner... or at least not this... _messily_... He turned away, focussing on Art instead to prevent himself from throwing up.

The man who had acted almost like a father to the young Russian turned to face him wordlessly. He thought of his newly rediscovered family and how, whenever he cast his eyes upon their faces, memories came rushing back. He thought of the fact that his more recent friends were now safe once again - or at least an approximation of safe, being as that one of them was currently alone and unguarded in a hotel room a few miles away and the other was here with him in a Mafia lair. And he thought of his charge, _alive,_ despite what he had feared.

**_"I am now, Zory,"_** he smiled slightly, squeezing the boy's shoulder gently. **_"I am now."_**

* * *

**FOWL MANOR, IRELAND**

On the other end of the line, lying in his four-poster bed, Artemis Fowl Senior immediately tried to find out the number that had rung him. It had been withheld, unfortunately. Perhaps he would get an expert to look at it tomorrow. He would be most intrigued to find out who it was that had such a familiar-sounding voice...

_But who on Earth would ring at such late an hour? _he thought to himself, frowning slightly.

"Who was that, dear?" Angeline asked him blearily, disturbed by the noise of the ringtone and her husband's voice.

"I don't know. They said wrong number… but the voice… for a second I could swear it was…" Artemis stopped and shook his head.

"Was what?"

"_Who_, rather than _what_, my dear. Although I suppose _'what'_ may be more of an appropriate term given the particulars of the situation..."

"Oh Timmy I'm half asleep! Do stop being so mysterious," Angeline sighed. "Who was it?"

"Well… I thought it was… No. I'm being ludicrous. And completely so at that. I must just be tired."

"Go on, darling," Angeline said gently, wrapping her arms around her husband. "You know I shan't laugh at you."

"I thought… well, I thought it was… The Major."

"Oh."

Angeline didn't know what else to say. Once he had awoken in the hospital in Helsinki, one of her husband's first questions had been: "I don't expect he… Major… did he...make it?" And she had shook her head sadly and he had squeezed her hand and his own eyes shut and sniffed.

"Well I suppose it was a long shot. And besides, I'd probably not have been missing for two years if he'd been alive."

And Angeline had had to agree.

"Maybe it was Butler," she said, back in the present. "I must admit I used to get them muddled up over the telephone. Or in general, to be honest."

Artemis_ 'hmm-_ed' quietly. It was true, only Juliet identified them correctly 100% of the time.

"But why would he ring in the dead of night and then say that it was the wrong number?"

"Perhaps he's drunk," she said jokingly.

"And now, my dear, it is _you_ that is being ludicrous," Artemis chuckled.

And with that, the Fowls slept soundly in their beds once more with, as per usual, no idea of what the Butler family did to protect them.

* * *

**Nawwr there we go :)**

**And they all lived happily ever after...**

**Ah I'm only kidding! ****Don't worry, it's not over yet. Still a couple more chapters to come.**

**Thanks for reading so far and I hope you enjoy the last bits left,**

**Wolfy**  
**ooo**  
** O**

**27-06-12**


	18. Out With A Bang

**Thanks to: _2whitie, Crazy Female LEPrecon, Shadow Huntress, Fowl Star 57, Sandd_ and _Steinbock_ for the reviews - you guys are great :)**

**WARNINGS: Alright, so it's not as jam-packed as the last one but in this chappie the promised explosion ensues.**

**Things could get messy...**

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

**_Out With A Bang_**

"I don't know what he did that had the other guy so worked up," Butler said, examining the underside of the desk. "But there are two nice, big, red buttons under here and since he didn't have time to press the second, I think we should get out of here before something automatic happens and we end up dead."

"Agreed," The Major nodded.

**_"Is everyone good to go?"_** Butler asked, switching to Russian for Zory's benefit.

"Yeah, no harm done," Juliet said, touching the duct-tape over her neck wound to check it was still firmly stuck in place. "And you?"

Zory blinked. The constant switching of languages was getting confusing to him, yet they didn't bat an eyelid at it.

"Good," Butler said, although it didn't seem like he was answering her question. Juliet gave him a quick once-over and decided that, whilst he was still breathing, moving and sorting out others before himself, she could save the questioning for later.

They headed for the stairs, Butler taking point, Zory between him and The Major and Juliet bringing up the rear, glancing back regularly to check that no hidden assailant was following them.

**_"Is Grandpa ok?"_** Zory asked him as they filed quickly down the stairs. He was still in utter disbelief at what had happened. First of all the Mafia had come after him. _Him,_ plain, ordinary Zoridon Kochanskii. A nobody. And then he had been rescued by his friend, who had suddenly developed the ability to be a superhero of some sort and teamed up with two people that (although only in his head, of course) Zory had once suspected could merely have been figments of Art's addled imagination.

**_"He's fine. We've got him holed up somewhere safe," _**The Major informed him, placing a hand on his back to urge him forward.

**_"Is he..."_**

**_"Hush just now, Zory. I tell you on the way there,"_** The Major tried not to get annoyed with the constant questioning - especially since he would likely have to endure it for some time to come after this whole episode was over.

Zory sensed that something was making his father-figure nervous and opened his mouth to speak again to ask what it was. Then he paused, unwittingly catching scent of the answer to his unspoken question.

_**"Can anybody else smell..."**_

_**"Don't say that, Zory. They're bloody-well famous last words where we come from,"**_ Juliet groaned.

But the boy was right. An invisible assassin was leaking quickly from an unknown source, poisoning the very air they breathed and setting up the death-trap.

"You see someone, take them out by hand. No shots," Butler said, hurrying the group towards the front door. If the other half of the Mafia group had returned and were guarding it, they would have to find another way out. Being trapped in this house for much longer was not going to be in-keeping with staying alive. "One false move is going to set this stuff off."

"Well at least now we know what the second button was for," The Major said grimly as they reached the door.

Butler slid back the panel that allowed an insider to look out onto the street, standing well-back. He wasn't about to get nailed by one of his own tricks.

"Clear?"

"Clear. I'll go first. Any shots and we head for the back door, understood? One stray bullet and this place is headed for kingdom-come."

The others nodded, Juliet still watching the corridor behind them for movement.

Butler placed one hand on the door-handle, the other readying his gun. He couldn't use it, or else risk blowing them all up, but an outside attacker wouldn't know that.

He cracked the door open carefully and precious fresh air leaked through the gap. It was worrying to think that they hadn't realised just how concentrated the gas was getting. With a glance at his companions to check they were ready to move, he opened it further and stepped out onto the porch, ducking behind the railings and scanning the entire street for hostiles. It was empty but for a cat, which looked once in his direction, eyes glinting, before vanishing into the night.

_**"OK let's move. Keep your heads down."** _Butler said, opening the door fully and leading them out into the darkness.

They left quickly and quietly and reached the pick-up truck barely a few minutes after dispatching the head of the Mafia.

There wasn't room for them all in the cab, so Butler shut the door behind them and leapt into the back of the pick-up.

"Are you sure, bro? I really don't mind..."

"No, Jules. You sit up front. It's hardly a proble... Ah. Shite."

Butler couldn't believe it had slipped his mind that they still had an unwanted 'passenger', but there he was, still lying under the tarpaulin and considerably more solid than when he had been left there.

"What is it? What?" Juliet said, drawing her gun again.

"Nothing alive," Butler shrugged, dropping the tail-board and dragging the parcel off the back of the truck.

"Then what... oh right," she petered off.

"How else do you think we found you two so quickly?" her brother said bluntly.

"What do you want to do with it?" The Major asked out of the window. "We could probably find somewhere to dump it, if you like?"

"There's nowhere good nearby. I checked before we flew over," Butler told him, shaking his head. "Right, I'll take it back to the house and leave it there, then meet you back where we left Aramazd."

His uncle nodded in understanding and started the truck's engine.

"Be careful. I haven't the time to be sewing you back together if you get blown to smithereens."

"Dom, no," Juliet said firmly. "You can't go back there for that. It's pointless. Leave it somewhere. No-one will give a shit..."

"Someone might. At least if they're all together it lessens the trace. We leave it here and someone knows there was someone else involved. They could have just had an in-house brawl and killed eachother so long as no-one looks too closely."

Juliet ground her teeth. But her brother was right. As he always was.

"Fine. But if you get blown-up I am _so_ going to beat the shit out of you."

"Yeah. Sure you are," Butler smirked as he hauled the first of the Mafia's body-count from the back of the pick-up truck before turning serious once again. "You might want to hide that truck, Uncle. Maybe get rid of it."

From what he understood, Zory laughed out loud at the statement. "Art, get rid of the truck? Never."

'Art' grunted in annoyance. Clearly that was a taunt on his nephew's behalf. He knew that he'd clean any remnants of evidence from the truck later, leaving it nigh-on impossible to link it or them to any of the night's events.

Butler locked the back gate up again and The Major set off, disappearing into the winding streets within seconds. His considerable driving skills were apparently still firmly ingrained in his memory.

Butler watched them go, then hefted his cargo higher onto his shoulder and jogged back to the house. Really he should get rid of the sheets and leave the body as it had been naturally, but with the smell of gas almost overpowering before he had even reached the door, he rolled the bundled corpse into the hallway and shut the entrance of the headquarters behind it. If anybody bothered to check, it would probably be covered in evidence, but once it was confirmed that it was the Mafia, no-one would want to prosecute anyone for ridding the world of a few gangsters anyway.

Butler considered torching the building himself with a bullet from the other side of the street, just to be on the safe side, but with at least one live man inside, his spark of mercy flickered instead and he left it be. Besides, an explosion that size would make the news and there was more than just the one reason he didn't like having his picture taken.

He had just stepped into the cover of shadows in an alleyway opposite the body-filled house when the vehicle rounded the corner. He watched it bump up the curb and towards the garage, backing off quickly to a safer distance... and almost tripped over something moving that clung to his boot with multiple needles before letting go.

In a second he had his gun trained on it, ready to put a swift end to his latest attacker.

The scruffy-looking dark-furred cat he had seen earlier yowled quietly and wound itself around his leg.

"_Jaysus_, you stupid animal," the bodyguard muttered, ducking behind a bin out of sight. "You trying to give me a fecking heart-attack?"

It followed, batting a chicken bone across the grimy floor. The bone hit a can, sending it rattling across the cracked concrete.

Convinced now that the animal was intent on getting them both killed, Butler growled at it and the feline glared at him reproachfully before stalking off down the alleyway... back towards the house.

_Oh for God's sake,_ Butler thought, rising from his hunkers to grab the animal before it became a cat-kebab, wondering all the time exactly _why_ he cared at all about the welfare of a mangy alley-cat._ Damn stupid conscience._

But he always found himself more willing to save a life after taking a few. Did one cat counter out the deaths of a few murdering kidnappers? Butler decided not to think to hard about that, considering that, if their history was looked at too closely, he, his uncle and his sister themselves could be classed within the same category.

Yes, he had other things to think about for the moment.

For example, the fact that if just _one_ of those men had a fag on...

* * *

**_"We have been what, an hour? Why does he get so worked up about necessary treatment?" _**one man complained as they returned to the house.

**_"Quiet. You know he bugs these things. I doubt he will be giving you employee of the year if he hears you speaking of him in such ways,"_ **the driver said, getting out of the car and rolling the garage door down behind them.

The others grunted in agreement.

**_"Anyone got a light? I'm dying for a cigarette over here."_**

**_"Those things will kill you," _**one man said, handing him a lighter anyway.

Little did they know how right he was...

**_"Well if they don't, Britva will. And I don't know about you, but I would rather die with a cigarette in my mouth than one of his pistols."_**

**_"Fair point,"_ **said the man at the front, opening the adjoining door to the house. The stench hit him in the face immediately but his brain faltered, unsure of exactly what the familiar scent was for an instant. It couldn't be... _**"Wait, can anybody smell..."**_

The man with the lighter smelt it too, but by then his thumb was already too far gone on the strike wheel. The metal rasped against the flint, sparking a flame into life.

**_"Oh..."_**

* * *

Butler had always considered explosions as an art form.

He'd quite enjoyed blowing things up as a student. No, scratch that. He quite enjoyed blowing things up in general. He'd been gutted about that earthquake the time he was meant to be destroying that drug den... But it was unprofessional and frowned upon by Ko to have an unhealthy preference for _any_ particular form of her training. No, instead he should revel in them all equally.

But still, explosions were beautiful.

This one had to rank high in the best he had ever seen, or rather heard and saw reflected off the grimy snow, for he wisely shielded his eyes away from the blinding light as the house seemed to erupt as if there had been a hidden volcano underneath it. The explosion echoed over the town, aftershocks from exploding petrol tanks of the vehicles adding to the deafening bellow.

When the last tinkling of glass and rumbling of settling concrete had stopped and the only sound was the crackling of fire, Butler appraised the result.

The house was... gone.

In it's place was a miniature mountain of rubble, adorned with flickerings of left-behind flames, hungrily consuming what little combustible material there was left. The garage, the sight of ignition, was barely recognisable, the cars, shells of what they had once been had been thrown from the epicentre and lay broken on their side or roof. Shrapnel lay scattered across the street like ink from a blot on grubby paper. Ash began to fall from the sky, hissing on contact with the snow and mingling together until it was hard to tell what would be hot and what would be cold if you touched it.

Butler felt a smile breaking on his face._ Job done._ And in reality, he hadn't actually caused this one. Well, maybe indirectly...

The cat he had grabbed just feet away from getting set alight or crushed or killed in general, struggled, spitting at him and so he placed it on the floor as gently as he could from three feet up. It landed on its feet of course, arching its back indignantly.

"So much for gratitude, you little flea-bag."

The cat hissed at him and sprinted away from the scene.

_Now there's a guy with the right idea,_ Butler thought with one last look at the aftermath of the explosion before he turned his back on the heat of the flames and disappeared into the welcoming cool of the shadows.

* * *

Across the town, three particular people heard the explosion.

"Oh please don't let that be..." Juliet groaned, spinning round in her seat to see the plume of smoke rising above the rooftops.

"I suspect it probably was, Juliet," The Major said, rooting in his pocket and handing her a phone. "Would you like to check he's still alive _before_ or _after_ you start demanding I go back?"

"Funny how you can predict stuff, yet you can't remember what I was like," Juliet scowled, snatching the phone and typing in her brother's number from memory.

"Oh it's coming back to me faster than you'd think," The Major muttered, sensing a full-blown Juliet-grump on the horizon.

The phone rang for an excruciating three rings before a voice answered.

"Yes, I'm still alive. And no, they are not."

"That's presumptuous of you, I was going to ask if you wanted some of this takeaway we're ordering," Juliet hid her relief in satire and let out the breath she'd been holding.

"Hilarious," he brother grunted, jogging towards the hotel.

"Where are you?"

"Heading for the meeting place, why?"

"We'll wait for you about three streets before it by the pub," she told him, gesturing her uncle to pull up. "You might be being followed."

"Good thinking, but the only thing left alive to follow me from there is a stray cat," Butler told her, noticing his new shadow trailing him from a distance.

"Aww," Juliet grinned at thought. "Can we kee..."

"No."

There were three beeps in quick succession and Juliet pulled the phone from her ear and looked at the screen. "He hung up on me, the bastard."

_**"Can I borrow the phone now?"**_ Zory asked hopefully. **_"I want to tell Grandpa we're safe."_**

The Major rolled his eyes.

_Teenagers._

His phone bill was going to be through the roof at this rate.

* * *

The red pick-up had barely pulled up outside the hotel when the doors where thrown open and someone came towards them at a tottering run, waving his stick in welcome.

"_**Grandpa!"**_ Zory yelled and rushed at him, embracing the old man tightly and garbling in rapid Russian at him.

"_**Art! Come here, man. This at least calls for some show of emotion!" **_Aramazd called and The Major stepped over to the pair and crushed them in a Butler representation of a hug.

In the background, the remaining Butlers waited.

"Did that bullet hit you?" Juliet asked.

"Who's, Britva's? Not really," her brother said. "Nice shot by the way."

"Yeah, but if I had hit him in the head a second earlier then he wouldn't have had time to shoot you. And how can a bullet_ 'not really'_ hit you?"

"No harm done," her brother shrugged, not exactly answering the question. "I'm pretty sure the Kevlar stopped it."

And indeed the Kevlar _had, _somewhat, although it was the strands of bulletproof material woven into his chest muscle that had completely stopped the bullet after it had burrowed through the vest. Butler envisaged having a fun time later digging it out the centimetre-or-so it had sunk into his chest muscle.

"Pretty sure. _Pretty sure?_ You're ridiculous, you know that? I have no idea why you're still standing. That bullet should've gone straight though your vest at that range," Juliet said knowingly. "You... you scared me. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Yeah well, you kind of scared me first," Butler said, nudging her arm with his knuckles. "And without you I probably _would_ be dead right now so let's just call it even."

"And man-up about the whole thing, yeah?" Juliet smiled, punching him back.

"Exactly," Butler smiled down at her. But inside he sighed heavily. He had been talking to Foaly about giving his sister her memories back. So far he'd refused and Butler had threatened to try to tell her anyway. Unfortunately when he had, she had just assumed he'd gone bonkers.

"He looks happy doesn't he," Juliet murmured after a moment.

"Hmm?"

"Uncle. He looks happy."

"Yeah. I suppose he does," Butler admitted grudgingly.

"What do we do, bro?" she asked. "About him, I mean. Do we just go back home and forget he's not dead or what? Do we tell Mr. Fowl? Little Arty would want to know you were alive if he'd spent the last few years thinking you were dead."

Butler '_hmm-_ed' again. It was his general response to questions he didn't know the answer to. Or ones that hid did, but didn't _want_ to answer.

Over by the hotel, Aramazd broke away from the group and beckoned them.

"You two," he said in English. "Come here. I want to meet you properly. I have heard many, _many_ stories about you."

"Really?" Juliet asked as they trudged through the snow toward him. "I thought you didn't remember us, Uncle?"

"_**He had memories. He used to zone out and then tell us about what he saw. Mostly it was you two. Mostly you, to be honest. You're his nephew, right?"**_ Zory said excitedly. Now they were out of danger, The Major had relented and gave him permission to question everyone and his first port-of-call was the man he hadn't yet had chance to speak to.

_**"Yes,"** _Butler nodded, unaccustomed to dealing with such excitement from someone his charge's age.

_**"And you Juliet, you're the little girl from his memories," **_Zory continued, just so that she didn't feel looked-over. He thought she might get that a lot coming from the family she did. He was wrong. Juliet Butler was good at making sure people remembered her.

**_"Less of the 'little girl', if you wouldn't mind,"_ **she grumbled at him.

There was a ripple of laughter at this, but it petered out and chill of Northern Russia seeped in.

There was a distinct air of_ 'what now?',_ until Aramazd spoke again.

"It may be terribly English of me to say it, but shall we all go have a hot drink and you can tell me what happened."

* * *

**I was going to call this chapter: In Which There Is A Compulsory Explosion. But it was a bit long. Like this end-note thing is.**

**Point #1: **

**May I just put in at this point, when I say 'had a fag on' I am not making a derogatory reference to a homosexual on fire. I mean a lit cigarette. No, I do not know why British slang is so mixed up, but someone has pulled me up on that particular wordage before (in _In the Path of Bullets_ [not that I'm *shamelessly-self-advertising* or anything there...]) so I thought I'd better clarify in case some of you had a very odd mental word picture of the Mafia accidentally blowing up their own lair with an on-fire gay person... haha :)**

**Point #2:**

**Also, if you wanted to know, my idea of what a house looks like when its been blown up wasn't exactly spot on until I saw the news this week. It was very helpful writing-wise, but I am by no means making light of it. Thoughts go out to the people and their families killed or injured in blast. If you see the pictures you'll know that those who survived it are very, _very_ lucky and in terms of this fic, exactly _why_ there will be no survivors.**

**Point #3:**

**Actually, there is no real point to Number 3. Other than to say that the end if completely written now. Likely it will extend by a couple of hundred more words before posting, but just so you know. There is a definite ending now as per usual with my fics, rather than driving into oblivion as we had been doing, even though I might not have mentioned that to you... Remember the van at the start? :)**

**Oh and I hope you enjoyed your Wolfy-fic explosion fix as much as Butler did. I think he'd be unhappy if there hadn't been at least one and no-one wants an unhappy Butler, do they now?**

**Wolfy  
ooo  
O**


	19. A Stitch In Time

**Thanks to:_ Sandd, 2whitie, Crazy Female LEPrecon, Shadow Huntress, Steinbock_ and _Fowl Star 57_ for the reviews and to _Sandd, 2whitie_ and_ Crazy Female LEPrecon_ for faving/alert me or this story.**

******This fic is up to 99 reviews so far. Almost triple figures and the most I've ever had - even for Lil Rems which has been going a good while now - and it's mostly down to you guys, ****my serial-reviewers! I know when I see the little un-opened envelopes in my email inbox that, once again, you hav****en't let me down - despite the extended length of this fic :) **

**WARNINGS: Swearing and (shockingly) no violence. Unless you count First Aid (Butler-style) as violence...**

**It is a bit of a split up, wrap-up-the-loose-ends chapter, but besides, it's not over yet.**

**Onwards!**

* * *

**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

_**A Stitch In Time**_

It was very late, or rather very _early_, when they had finished relaying the night's events, but the happenings of the evening had left their mark physically as well as mentally.

"So, will you be fighting it out for the shower or are you three going to be gentlemen?" Aramazd asked, an amused tone to his voice.

The 'gentlemen' rolled their eyes.

"Oh yeah!" Juliet whooped. "Hot shower it is for me, then."

"Funny how you don't mind being a girl when it suits you," Butler muttered.

"Nah - I know you're not being chivvy-whatsit..."

"Chivalrous?" The Major suggested.

"Yeah that. It's only because you know you'd lose if we wrestled for it."

"Sure. _That's_ why," Butler said sarcastically, flinging her her bag of fresh clothes from beside one of the beds. "Don't take forever."

Juliet caught it and grabbed a towel, grinning.

"Well I suppose being female has it's perks in grubby hotels where the hot water is only going to last two minutes," Juliet said and stuck her tongue out at him before disappearing into the bathroom.

**_"Want to draw straws for the next one?"_** Zory asked hopefully when the water stopped a few minutes later. At home it was always him who ended up with the coldest shower. Age before beauty and all that...

**_"No it's alright, Zory,"_** The Major laughed._** "We're use to cold showers. You take it."**_

"It's all coming back to you now, is it? Couldn't possibly have remembered earlier when I was stuck treating you like a complete first year..." Butler said drily. Actually, the phrase should have been _'complete civilian'_, but his uncle had his gun close to hand and since he now remembered how to use it properly, Butler didn't fancy his chances of not getting shot in the backside as he legged it out of the room if he had voiced that particular opinion.

Juliet saved her uncle from formulating a (possibly physical) response to that statement by emerging from the bathroom in fresh clothes and with a towel held firmly to her neck.

"Uh, Dom? Could you grab me the first aid kit? Blood slightly going everywhere over here."

Argument immediately forgotten, Butler leapt to his feet and grabbed the kit from his bag, chucking it onto a small table and gesturing for Juliet to sit on the chair next to it and turning on the light. She did and, whilst Zory snuck into the bathroom before anyone could change their minds about him having the lukewarm shower, Butler began to clean the wound on his sister's neck.

"How many stitches?" she asked, as he swapped the area with local anaesthetic and ripped the packet of a sterile needle open with his teeth.

"Not so many. Maybe four, if you're lucky. The one on your cheek should heal itself."

"Good. Do them neat, OK? I don't want to look like some vampire-wanna-be..."

The Major watched the exchange with interest, memories flooding back once again. Of course they were more filled with situations where Juliet would end up sat on the kitchen counter getting a grazed knee or elbow being patched up, rather than a neck laceration sewn back together, but the basic principal was there. With every situation his brain was searching for similar past events, bringing them to the forefront of his mind and filing them away again after inspection, this time correctly, rather than just chucking them back into the jumble of mixed memories they had come from.

Butler was used to performing first aid under immense amounts of pressure, thanks as usual to Madame Ko's training. That particular lesson had involved treating an injury of a fellow classmate whilst everyone else in that particular class tried everything from shooting the student with paintball guns to streaking across the field they were training in to distract them. Needless to say, the quiet of the hotel room was nothing to the Butlers and before Zory had even finished scrubbing himself clean, Juliet's wound was sealed.

"There, all done. Just don't go head-butting anyone for a while. You might stretch it open again."

"Okidoki," Juliet piped, leaning over to check the neatness of the job in the mirror on the wall. It _had_ only taken four stitches and it would be a brilliant talking point when she got back to her wrestling. "I can see the headlines now: _Jade Princess, Gored by Tiger, Survives to Tell Epic Story..._"

Her brother shook his head slightly at her and peeled off his bloodied t-shirt before ripping the heavy-duty velcro of his bullet-proof vest open, forgetting about the 'issue' it had been hiding. He pulled it over his head, wincing slightly at the stretch to the damaged muscle of his chest it caused. The Major looked at him quizzically, his eyebrows shooting upwards when he spotted the cause of the reaction.

"Jesus Christ, Dom! I _knew_ that bullet had gone through!" Juliet yelped, spotting the hole in his under-shirt in the mirror and spinning round. "Sit down!"

"Jules, it's been like that for hours, I'm hardly about to keel over now," Butler said, poking at the hole interestedly.

_Kevlar-enforced tissue,_ he smirked to himself. _Thank-you Captain Short._

And in the bigger picture, Arno Blunt too - which was pretty ironic.

"What? Bullet in your chest just slipped your mind, did it?" she demanded, swatting his hands away and tugging at the shirt to gauge the damage.

"Jules - t-shirt, ripping. Stop please."

"I don't give a damn about your sodding _shirt,_ you retard! You've got a_ bullet_ in your chest!"

"Well that's a new trick," The Major noted, getting up from the sofa he had been sitting on and pushing his nephew firmly onto the newly designated 'patient treatment chair'. "Shirt off, please. Let's have a look at this medical mystery."

Butler obliged a little grudgingly, tugging his shirt over his head and grabbing an alcohol wipe from the desk to clear the surprising minimal amount of blood around the silver dot in his chest.

"What the hell, Dom? I mean, I know you work out," Juliet said, aiming the lamp at the tail end of the bullet and peering concernedly at it. The bullet glinted golden in the light, looking for all the world like a wrongly-placed, rather unusual nipple-piercing. "But you're not telling me your pecs are that tough."

Butler laughed at that. "Well, you know me. Muscles of steel and all that..."

"Huh. We'll see about that next time we're sparring," The Major said, pushing his thumb against the skin under where the bullet was nestled and trying to pop it free. "Seriously, though. Have you had work done or something? This is quite impressive."

"Nope," Butler shrugged, hoping his uncle wouldn't keep pressing it. The issue, that was. Although him prodding the bullet-wound wasn't exactly a barrel of laughs either. He had yet to think up of a plausible excuse for his semi-bullet-proof chest tissue and nothing was springing to mind at this instant. Luckily for him, even if she had no recollection of the cause of the 'mystery', Juliet skilfully brought the attention somewhat away from the matter.

"Ahaha - you've had a boob-job, haven't you?" she said, concern melting away as she began laughing hysterically.

"What the_ hell_, Jules?" he scowled. "_Why_ would I ever...?"

"Denial!" she accused gleefully. "Spread the news, people! My brother, '_The_ Butler', has bought himself some titanium tits!"

"Juliet, I highly doubt that," The Major sighed, pulling a knife from his boot.

"Although bullet-proof chests would earn someone quite a lot of money in the right market," Butler pointed out.

"They'd probably use Kevlar though," their uncle nodded. "More lightweight."

"Yeah," Butler said, ignoring the coincidence of his uncle naming the _exact_ material his fairy-healed chest tissue was mixed with and eyeing the knife cautiously. "Maybe you should hand me that..."

"Don't be daft, boy. At that angle you'll do more harm to yourself than good. Now lean back, or do I have to get Juliet to sit on you?" The Major asked sternly, spinning the knife expertly before holding it almost like a pen and deciding the best way to do this.

"Huh," Butler snorted. "Like that would keep me d_-ah-ow-_n!"_  
_

"There," The Major said, dropping the bullet on the desk with a quiet _'plink' _on the wooden surface. "Another souvenir for the tin."

The 'tin' he referred to contained a previous nineteen-or-so bullets he, or someone else, had dug out of his nephew's flesh. Although he had to say, this had to have been one of the easiest. He returned to the wound, poking the knife about with an interest only a seasoned bullet-remover could show.

Butler gritted his teeth slightly. The Major was always more thorough than he was gentle. Which was, admittedly, much better in the long run - not that it felt it just now, with the less-than-gentle digging of a shike throwing knife in his chest.

"Wuss," Juliet said, thumping him in the shoulder. "I didn't even wince, you big girl."

"Yeah well, I didn't dig a blade into your chest, did I?"

But it wasn't as though he hadn't been through worse and for the sake of his own pride, Butler didn't show any further signs of pain as his uncle worked on the small injury.

"Done," The Major said, once he was satisfied the bullet had remained whole and not fragmented into the wound. "Now that wasn't so hard, was it? Probably won't even need stitching. Doesn't seem to be bleeding very much. Bit of pressure on it'll do no harm, though."

Butler was still unimpressed. "You couldn't have gave me a little warning there, before you stuck me with a shrike?"

"You would've tensed up," The Major shrugged, opening another sterile pad.

"You know he's right," Juliet told her brother, much more content now that he was fine. "And then your steel-pecs-of-doom could've bent it and ruined a perfectly good knife..."

"Ah shut-it you," Butler grumbled as his uncle taped a pad over the seeping wound.

"Hand," he ordered and his nephew pressed a palm against his chest firmly and stood up. "Good. Look at you stood like that. Next thing you know you'll be singing the National Anthem..."

"Oh great, thanks," his nephew rolled his eyes in mild frustration. "Now I have the two of you to deal with."

"Ah, you'd miss me if I was six-feet under," The Major laughed, slapping him on the shoulder roughly and beginning to pack away the equipment.

"True," Butler had to agree.

He'd already had the unpleasant experience of just that and did _not_ want to suffer it again for a very, _very_ long time to come.

In the short, pensive silence that followed that comment, Aramazd, who they had been under the impression had been falling asleep where he sat on the sofa, spoke up suddenly.

"Art?" he said, frowning slightly as the man wiped off the tip of his knife and replaced it in it's holster on the side of his boot. "Do you not think you should have sterilised that first?"

The Major shrugged. "Nah, he'll live."

* * *

After the impromptu first aid and showers had been gotten over with, it was finally time to get some well-earned rest.

Aramazd took one of the beds and, after a short argument, Zory took the other.

The Butlers slept with the youngest on the room's only sofa and the elders on the floor.

It felt oddly nice to be sleeping on the hard surface and The Major spent the a lot of the rest of the night reacquainting himself with old memories. The more he concentrated on the past, the more he remembered and although the next morning he was perhaps more exhausted mentally than he had been physically, he looked over his family with fresh eyes.

Light spilled through a crack in the curtains illuminated the room with a grey, pre-dawn glow and allowing him to see them all clearly. He always had had good night-vision. It ran in the family, he remembered.

Juliet, asleep on the sofa and snoring slightly. She was completely make-up-less, grown-up somewhat since her younger days of glitter mascara. Days he wasn't there for. He stared sadly at the white block, slightly dotted with red and hiding the line of neat stitching on her neck. She wasn't a little girl anymore. He'd missed her grow up. Juliet mumbled in her sleep, rolling over so that all he could see was the back of her head, her plait snaking across the cushion and finishing in a jade coloured ring attached to a bobble. He wondered vaguely if she'd realised she could use that as an effective weapon if she wanted to. Probably, this was Juliet - queen of improvisation.

He sat up very quietly and looked across the floor at his nephew, almost an identical copy of himself. Years younger, of course, yet he was older now than he ever had been. The scowl, which had always been semi-permanent, had fully scarred his face now and the short crop of hair he now had was greying at the temples already.

The Major sighed slightly, looking at Zory next, the young innocent boy that he was. Looking at what had happened to the _last _young, impressionable boy he had been given charge of, he should probably leave Zory well alone. But that would mean leaving the country, perhaps, no _definitely,_ going back to the Fowls, if not working for them again, then at least temporarily. He owed Artemis that at least.

He yawned quietly and rubbed a hand across his face. And his nephew suddenly seemed to stiffen, cracking open an eye and checking the coast was clear before relaxing slightly and sitting up.

"Morning," The Major grunted.

"Morning," Butler echoed.

They sat in companionable silence for a few seconds before the elder asked the question that had been bothering him since the moment he realised who the man before him was to him.

"How did you find me?" The Major wondered aloud. "When I couldn't even find myself?"

This was a very deep thought for his uncle, especially for a _voiced _thought and Butler considered for a moment that the whack to the head had knocked something philosophical into the man.

"I…" Butler found that he didn't want to tell his uncle the details, but he knew that if he didn't, he'd have to lie. And lying to The Major never worked out well. "It's a long story."

"We have time. Care to go for a jog?"

It was The Major's way of asking if he wanted to talk, without sounding too emotionally involved.

"If you feel up for it," Butler shrugged, stretching and reaching for his boots. "I'm mean, it was probably a long night for you..."

"Feckin' cheeky little…" The Major growled quietly and mock-lunged a fist at him.

* * *

They left a note for the others and found themselves, twenty minutes later, sat on the docks with their legs dangling into oblivion, watching the water swell below and the fishermen start up their work.

"Well, now you know why I came here," Butler said eventually. "And you were just there when we got here. If that makes sense."

He had finally told his uncle the reason he was in Russia, without his charge and so bothered about the name 'Artemis Fowl'. It had been just as hard as he thought it would be, yet the response was nothing like he had imagined. The Major had been quiet and understanding. Maybe the past five years-or-so had changed him, or maybe that would have been his response regardless. It was difficult to tell.

"Why Russia to look for him?"

"A tip off," Butler said truthfully. "About an Artemis Fowl living in Murmansk. It was too coincidental to pass up."

"Fair enough."

Butler breathed heavily through his nose and stared out of the harbour into the rough sea.

"What?" The Major looked at him, but Butler said nothing, so he guessed his nephew's thoughts. "You know, I would be a hypocrite to reprimand you for losing your charge when I forgot mine even existed."

"Maybe, but at least you had to be nearly dead before that happened."

"Perhaps," The Major shrugged. "Care to tell me what actually happened."

"You wouldn't believe me if I did," Butler snorted.

"Domovoi," The Major said seriously, smiling softly at the jolt his nephew gave at the use of his true name. "Over the past 24 hours I've been attacked by Russian Mafia, counter-attacked the Russian Mafia, helped to rescue my niece and friend with you, my nephew, and re-remembered thirty-odd years of my life. I'm pretty sure I can take anything you throw at me."

"Yeah," Butler muttered. "Probably."

The Major didn't push him. "I know you'll tell me when you're ready."

Butler shrugged, feeling about ten years old, back when he refused to tell his uncle how his first term at the academy had been. He doubted he'd ever tell him the truth. The Major was a very down-to-earth man and would probably think him as mad as a box of frogs without solid proof and Butler wasn't about to reveal the People's existence for the sake of his pride.

Instead, he focussed on the hidden aspect of the statement.

"So you're sticking around then? Coming back with us?" he tried not to sound too (pathetically) hopeful at the idea and mostly succeeded, or at least that's what he thought. But his uncle knew him better than anyone else in the world, bar perhaps one. And she was asleep on a sofa back in the hotel, oblivious to their conversation.

"I don't know," The Major sighed. "Half of me wants to go back to Ireland, see Artemis. See how life's going over there. But then… then I'd have to come back. I can't leave Zory and Aramazd. They did a lot for me. More than they should have. In return I got them both into danger. I can't let that happen again. I need to be here for them."

Butler nodded. It was what he had expected.

"But I will come back with you when you go. If I'm welcome, of course."

"You've been dead for the past half a decade. You're welcome with us anywhere."

"Good," said The Major. "I want to see the look on Artemis's face, for one."

Down on the docks a boat headed out, someone hollering orders and deckhands scurrying to obey them.

"He asked me about you, you know," Butler told his uncle, reliving the moment when Artemis Fowl Senior had called him back at the door of the hospital room in Helsinki. Butler hadn't wanted to shut the door behind him as he was asked to, but Juliet was with the other Fowls and he forced himself to stand and listen to what the man who was, in the long run, the cause of his uncle's 'death', had to say. "He wanted to know if you got a proper burial and whether he could visit the grave. I told him you'd been buried like a true Butler and left it at that. Speaking of which, I wonder who actually _is _in a grave with your name on it."

The Major paused before he spoke.

"I've been thinking about that and I think I know who it might be. There was this one man, one of us, actually. Although not _'one of us'_, if you know what I mean."

Butler raised his eyebrows. So perhaps Harvey hadn't been talking complete rubbish.

"Some bloody fool called… Azarof, or something like that, I think. Fresh graduate from Ko's, but way older than you or your father and I were when we got our diamonds and a right… well. He thought he was the dog's bollocks. Apparently not, it would seem."

"He had your watch on when they found him. And everyone knows people get our family mixed-up, even without the skin burnt off our faces."

"Nice picture."

"Yeah," Butler agreed. "I didn't see 'you', else I probably would've identified the body better. Harvey, the guy from security - the young one, not the arsehole – came and ID'd the bodies."

"Whilst you stayed home and held the fort," The Major nodded. "Good lad."

"Well, I _was_ taught by the best," Butler smirked.

"Huh," his uncle held back a smile.

The pair of Butlers sat in companionable silence for a while, content in eachother's company. Or at least that was until a small yowl brought their attention to something else and a dark shape leapt onto the younger's lap. For a second the cat nearly went over the edge of the docks before he realised what it was.

"Flaming cat!" he growled good-naturedly, scruffing it and dumping it between them where it completely ignored the slightly rough treatment and rubbed up against The Major, tail shivering happily.

"Well I know you were always one for animals," The Major chuckled. "But I thought dogs were more your thing?"

"Bloody animal won't stop following me..." Butler grumbled, offering the cat a knuckle to rub its cheek on. "You like it? Keep it."

The cat mewled happily.

"Well if it follows us back, it can stay. Zory keeps begging us for a pet," The Major said, shuggling the loose skin on the skinny animal's back.

To anyone else it might've seemed odd to watch the two giant killers with the tiny, playful cat. But then again, 'normal' is an opinion, not a state.

The Major smiled on the inside. So maybe he didn't remember everything just yet, but it wouldn't be long. Everything was stitching back together again. Repairing the damage left by the explosion.

_Alright, that's enough._

He was becoming far too metaphorical.

"Right. Time to get moving. Things to do before we leave."

They got up and turned back the way they had come, someone calling after them as they went.

_**"Hey Art, who's the new guy?"**_

Both Butlers flinched, hands stretching towards their guns which were, naturally, nestled in their holsters - as always. The Major wondered how he'd ever lived otherwise. At the sight of the man, The Major relaxed, Butler following suit. He had always trusted his uncle with his life. And now that clearly this man was more 'The Major' than 'Art', he could do so again. It was a strange feeling to know he was back in the company of someone who had undergone the same training and several of the same life-experiences as he had. Strange, but very welcome.

_**"He's not a new guy,"**_ The Major shouted back. **_"He's my nephew."_**

**_"Really? I didn't know you had family."_**

**_"Neither did I, Nikolai,"_** The Major laughed.**_ "Neither did I."_**

* * *

******I just have to nip in here and say a humongous *THANK-YOU* to Alchemechanist who sent nagging emails to whoever runs this place and finally, finally, FINALLY got The Major put on the character list. WOOP! Just changed a couple of the character settings on some of my fics so I hope people with them on alerts don't get emails saying they've been updated when they haven't...**

******Just a lil bit of *shamless-self-advertising* here, but if you search for stories with 'Major' in the character who-jimmy-whatsit my fics are all by themselves over there. I am genuinely looking forward to there hopefully being more at some point though. He deserves some credit and hero-worshipping fics... and not just from me for a change! :)**

******I split this chappie from being 7-and-odd-K words just so there'd be one extra update for you. I have further prolonged the end. Is that a good thing? I dunno.**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Wolfy  
ooo  
O**


	20. Lasting Impressions

**Thanks to:_ 2whitie, Sandd, Crazy Female LEPrecon, Shadow Huntress, Fowl Star 57, Steinbock_ and for the reviews - triple figures review-wise 'cause of you lot you super-ace bunch :)**

**WARNINGS: Some swearing. Not much. But hey, I don't know your views on the matter, but p****ersonally as long as it's not ridiculously excessive or offensive I can live with swearing. I tend to do rather a lot of it myself. And besides, ****I bet the Butlers are sick of censoring their language around the Fowls *...mutter... prudes...mutter...***

**Right, there's a massive long A/N at the end so I won't ramble on too much now.**

**Onwards!**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY**

_**Lasting Impressions**_

Back at the hotel everyone was still sleeping and so The Major headed for the tiny kitchen to begin making an approximation of breakfast out of the meagre rations his niece and nephew had bought from the supermarket at the corner of the road the night they had arrived.

_Just 36 hours ago._

The Major thought about what he had been doing 36 hours ago. Fixing the boat with Zory? No, he hadn't even been back in the harbour yet. They'd been out fishing. It was amazing how so little time could change everything.

With the kettle bubbling away and the smell of something vaguely appetising filling their nostrils, the sleepers began to stir.

"Fancy a jog and dip, Jules?" Butler called in the general direction of the blankets on the sofa.

At the sound of her brother's voice calling her name, Juliet's response was a barely coherent: _"Urghnoogimmefihmuhminitzzz…"_

The cat had followed them along the street and into the hotel forecourt. The woman on the reception desk had made as though to shoo it out but The Major had stopped her with a glance and a few words.

_**"He's with us."**_

That sounded ridiculous. As though they were bringing in a colleague, rather than just a cat.

_**"But sir, our policy is no pets..."**_ she had started indignantly.

_**"Who says it's a pet?"**_

The woman whimpered an excuse but they had already climbed the stairs, the cat trotting along behind them before the receptionist could make further intelligible comment.

Now, the animal leapt onto the sofa next to the female that smelt like the two big males and mewled a welcome directly into her ear.

Like a true Butler, Juliet sat bolt upright, instantly alert and sending the animal flying. It landed and shook itself a little disgruntledly, before slinking off to investigate the rest of the room.

"Holy shit that scared the crap out of me!" she yelped. "Oooh - is that the same cat you were talking about on the phone?"

"Yep," her brother nodded, wondering if the cat would mind eating human food for the foreseeable future. He was not about to start spending money on the cheeky little vagabond.

"Aww he's _gorgeous!_" she cooed, sliding off the sofa and trying to make up for first impressions by waggling the end of her long plait in the direction of the cat. "_Here_ kitty, kitty, kitty..."

_**"Kitty? A cat? How did you find a cat?" **_Zory asked sleepily.

_**"I'll tell you later,"**_ Butler sighed.

He was not as well-trained in the ways of dealing with inquisitive cats and Russian teenagers as he was on how to blow things up. Nor did he enjoy either of those things even nearly as much.

Over breakfast they talked. It was rather a deep conversation for the start of the day, but it was necessary and by the end of it they had a decision everyone was at least fairly happy with.

The rest of the day passed quickly, with them going back to the Kochanskii's house and patching up damage left from the night before as best they could. For now they put a throw over the damaged sofa, although Butler, as promised, managed to finally convince Aramazd to take some money towards buying a new one, or whatever else he would rather spend it on.

"It's a great conversation starter," Aramazd had argued. "Besides, you have done enough to pay for me back for it already. Keep your money."

_'Convince'_ was a deceiving word in this case. Butler had left the money in cutlery draw for the old man to find later when he was safely 30,000ft in the air in the Lear Jet on his way back to Ireland.

They also visited the gravesite where The Major was supposed to be buried.

The graveyard was empty but for the solemn grey headstones, aligned in neat rows. It didn't take long to find the one they were looking for. There was a group along one row, all bearing the inscription 'Killed in the Attack on the good ship the _Fowl Star_', all standing guard over the bodies of those who hadn't had families to return to or those whose families hadn't been able to afford to have the body flown back to their country of origin. They were all identical. Nothing marked out the one which was supposed to indicate the final resting place of the faithful bodyguard of Artemis Fowl Senior as being any different to an ordinary soldier.

Zory loped ahead of them, sliding snow off the stones and reading the names.

"No... no... no... oh - here you are, Art!"

That was a strange experience to say the least. Someone shouting you over to 'your' own grave.

The adults trailing behind him caught up, Juliet sliding a cold hand over her uncle's warm one and squeezing gently. It couldn't be easy visiting the place you were supposed to be buried.

They gathered around the headstone, Zory clearing the whole of it of snow in order to read the text inscribed there. It was in Russian mostly, but the last line was in a language Zory couldn't read.

* * *

_**Here lies**_

_**'The Major' Butler**_

_**Bodyguard of A. Fowl**_

_**Killed in the line of duty**_

_**In the attack on the good ship the Fowl Star**_

_Custos quiescit tandem_

* * *

There were a few moments of silence. It was as though they were taking a glance into the future. The Major wasn't so affected by what he saw.

**_"Not a bad epitaph,"_ **he shrugged when no-one spoke for fear of what his reaction would be.

_**"Indeed. Interesting, the latin on the end there,"** _Aramazd nodded. **_"Had you asked for that in a will?"_**

**_"No," _**The Major explained, gesturing to the other Butlers as he spoke.**_ "They stick it on the bottom of all of our headstones. Family tradition. It'll be on mine. Well, my real one. And on his. And maybe even Juliet's depending on whether she decides to guard or not."_**

**_"It's fitting," _**said Aramazd.**_"For you and all your family."_**

The Major and Butler grunted at that and muttered about it being a sentimental line and who even gave one anyway, but Zory committed the three words to memory and whispered to Juliet.

_**"What does it mean?"**_

**_"The Latin?"_** she asked quietly.

**_"Yes... if you don't mind telling me."_**

**_"It means: The guardian rests at last,"_** she said, sniffing slightly.

Zory wondered for a moment if it wasn't only the chill of the wind blasting their faces that had her eyes watering slightly, but he thought it best not to ask.

The phrase certainly did suit Art's true family, after all.

**_"Do you want me to say anything?"_ **Aramazd asked his friend.

**_"What? For him?"_ **The Major snorted. **_"No. The man was a wanker."_**

_**"Art!"** _the old Russian frowned. **_"Don't speak ill of the dead."_**

**_"Sorry," _**The Major said gruffly, looking anything but.**_"But he's partly the reason I lost my charge in the first place."_**

**_"Then he is partly the reason why you washed ashore and Zory found you," _**Aramazd said firmly.**_ "And I for one am grateful to him for that."_**

The Major ducked his head, slightly ashamed at those words. **_"You're right. I'm sorry. But he still doesn't deserve your prayers, Aramazd."_**

**_"Everyone deserves prayers, old friend."_**

There was another silence in which The Major thought it was probably best not to bring up their conflicting religious views and thought of something else to say.

**_"I've an idea,"_** Butler spoke up before the pair could begin arguing in earnest.

He stepped forward and toppled the headstone, turning it over and laying it flat and placating Aramazd with an open palm.

The man watched disapprovingly until Butler took out the more damaged of his knives from his boot and began scoring lines into the stone.

Onto the wrongly marked headstone he scratched the name 'Azarof Butler' and a date of death. It would've taken too long to print the details of his demise and Butler felt from what he had heard from his uncle that that man didn't deserve the family epitaph.

They didn't know anything else, but it hardly mattered when the body had been lying under a stone bearing the wrong name for the past half a decade or so.

Worming his fingers under the heavy slab of stone he stood it upright once again. On the reverse the incorrect text was upside-down now, but Butler scored through the name and title anyway, making the sure it was clear there had been a mistake.

_**"That do?"** _he said when he was done.

The others looked at it and nodded as one.

And then together they turned their backs on the now rightfully-marked grave of Azarof Butler and left it in peace once again.

The snow began to fall, filling their footsteps quickly and erasing any trace of their presence. Pretty soon only those who had specifically come to see the grave, or those nearby, would have any idea they'd been there at all.

* * *

_**Later**_

They arrived at the airport in the evening, once the Butlers had made sure Aramazd and Zory were going to be safe and well in 'Art's' absence.

This time they were flying privately in the Fowl's Lear Jet, which had been flown over once Butler had rang Ireland that morning and asked for it. He'd also asked for something else to be taken to the airport over in Ireland, but that was a surprise.

"They still use the same bird?" The Major said, surprise in his voice as they walked across the tarmac towards the plane.

He spoke calmly, despite the wide open expanse lined with windowed buildings making his recently awakened bodyguard senses twitch.

_Prime sniper territory._

"Yeah, they hit some hard times financially after you and Artemis... well, you know, after the _Fowl Star_ sank," Butler told him, going through the same checks of the buildings behind them.

"Hard times for the Fowls," The Major snorted. "Really? How bad was it? Have to cancel their thrice-annual holiday, did they?"

"No. No, it was genuinely quite bad, actually," Butler said, his tone informing his uncle that he wasn't joking. "At the worst point we were the only ones left staff-wise. And even then we weren't getting paid. It's all back now, though. Young Master Artemis is just as much of a businessman as his father."

"They sacked everyone?" The Major asked in surprise.

"Yup. And like I said, wages were in short supply for a while too."

"Well _that_ surprises me."

"And we have another surprise for you back at the airport," Juliet grinned as they climbed the stairs into the plane, all three of them automatically checking the exterior for any foreign objects that could potentially be explosive.

"And what might that be?" The Major asked, frowning. He didn't exactly _like_ surprises. And _especially_ not Juliet's idea of a 'surprise'.

"Well you'll have to find out, won't you?" she said, grinning cheekily at him.

* * *

Around halfway through the flight, The Major had a go at flying and found that the controls seemed to jump into his hands. Muscle-memory. At least a bash to his head hadn't knocked the training out of _them_.

At the airport, though, all joy at flying was overshadowed by the presence of a certain car.

The Major was, quite honestly, speechless.

"How could I have forgotten _you_, baby?" he murmured, running a hand over the bonnet fondly.

"Here," Butler smiled, digging in his pocket. "You can drive."

The Major beamed like a teenager with his first car and snatched the keys out of mid-air. He opened the door, hand recognising the handle instantly, ears taking in the familiar, clean clunk of the bolts vacating their housings. Not a single squeak either, as the door moved.

"You've looked after her well," he noted, climbing in and smoothing the leather of the steering-wheel before starting the ignition. The car purred into life and, as though recognising its true owner was back in the driving seat, Butler could swear the engine sounded different to when he started it up.

"'Course," Butler shuffled slightly and coughed gruffly. "You asked me to."

"Too right I did," The Major said. "Now are you two going to stand there all day, or are you getting in?"

"No, no, it's alright Uncle," Juliet laughed. "We'll meet you at the Manor. Dom's got a right beast of a vehicle to show you."

"Really now?" The Major asked interestedly.

"Yup," Juliet said before her brother could groan at her. "You and Bertha go have a little _quality time_."

"_Excuse_ me?" The Major's eyebrows raised at the use of the car's nickname and the comment's... suggestiveness.

How the _hell_ did Juliet know he called her that? He could have_ sworn_ he'd never said it out loud in front of _anyone_...

He shut the door to block her laughter at the look on his face, but she tapped on the window and he buzzed it down.

"You might want to go for a drive round the block though," she finished, grinning. "When I say 'vehicle' I mean more 'tin-box-with-wheels'. You practically have to _'Flintstone'_ it everywhere."

The Major decided to wait to pass his own verdict on that and pulled away smoothly, brain filling in memories of the way 'home' as he went, body automatically sliding the car into second before he could even consider choosing to do so. Economical driving. Much better for the old girl - heaven knew he'd put her through enough in his time. With every movement past chases filled his mind until he was pumped with adrenaline although the car was only gliding slowly to the exit of the airport carpark. It would be a good drive home.

"I think I got him with the whole 'Bertha' thing. He _so_ doesn't know I bugged the garage when I was nine," Juliet said conversationally. "You know, I was utterly gutted I'd never brought it up before he 'died'."

"Maybe," her brother said as they headed for their own mode of transport. "But if you're going to insult Nelly like that you're gonna find yourself walking home."

"Nelly?" Juliet stopped in her tracks. "_Seriously?_"

"What?" Butler asked as innocently as he could manage, wrenching open the door to the camper van, which appeared to have somewhat rusted shut over the couple of days it had been left alone. "She needed a name."

"Well _yeah._ But no, seriously, bro… _Nelly?_"

* * *

The Major was sat in a lay-by on the main road to the manor and had been for some time when the ancient VW campervan finally rattled over the hill. He laughed aloud as it trundled towards him, clanking and grumbling to itself all the while like a bad-tempered old mule. He'd always fancied buying one himself and fixing it up. Of course that would have been in an alternate reality when he actually _had_ any spare time of his own...

His smile only broadened when he realised exactly _who_ was crammed behind the steering-wheel and who was sat in the passenger seat with her feet propped up on the handle on the dashboard. At the passenger's pestering, the camper tooted hoarsely and The Major put the Bentley into gear. It rumbled happily in response to his urging it on and he patted the wheel fondly.

"Ah, no racing today, my dear," he told the car. "Who knows what Dom's crammed in the back of that thing to make it go?"

Looking at the acceleration rate on it as it sped up on the way past, it was most likely something highly charged and probably explosive...

And so he rumbled along behind the clapped-out van, turning off onto the familiar country lane until the great walls protecting Fowl Manor came into view. The Major watched as his nephew wound down his window and leant from the car, pressing his hand against a scanner inbuilt into one of the stone pillars.

_Well that's new,_ The Major noted as Butler completed the security measures by typing in a code. The Major wondered if it was the same as it used to be. Then again, he'd be having words with his nephew if it was. It wouldn't be very good for security at all if the code hadn't been changed in five years.

He was disappointed to see that his nephew still hadn't managed to talk the Fowls round about the electrified cattle-grid though…

"Keep close - I told it there's two cars but sometimes the system over-reacts a bit and slams the gates on the second one," Butler called over the rattling of his engine and the purring of the Bentley.

The Major quickly narrowed the gap between them until he could read even the smallest of the bumper stickers on the rear of the van.

Amongst them were:

**Think - Bike **- sensible.

**Keep honking, I'm reloading **- he laughed at that one.

and

**My other car's a Bentley **- also amusing.

The smallest one read: **If you're reading this, you better hope I don't brake** - which he expected was probably put there by Juliet.

The van lurched forward and he tailed it carefully - it would very much ruin his day if the gates scratched the sides of his bab… uh... _car._

It suddenly occurred to him that he had no idea how to handle the situation of meeting his charge again. He was supposed to be dead. How was Artemis supposed to react to that?

A phrase came to mind;

'_Que sera sera'_

Whatever will be, will be.

And so The Major wound the Bentley down the drive and, just as he had always done, prepared to be ready for anything.

* * *

Artemis Fowl Senior was in his study, brooding.

His finances were in order, that was not the reason for his mood.

His wife had come down with a bout of sickness, but that too, had not made him feel so morose as he currently was .

No, the reason for his miserable state of the moment, was his son. Or rather the_ absence_ of his son.

He had been missing for weeks now. _Months_, in fact.

Artemis found that he disliked being on _this_ side of a missing-persons saga as much as he had disliked being on the other. It was no less painful to be the one doing the worrying than it was being the person who was missing, knowing others were worrying about _you_.

He reached out and picked up the photograph that sat on his desk. It was quite old, but had only taken up residence there upon his return from Russia. It depicted a summer's day and, standing out against the background of the manor's land, a group of people.

It was an out-take photo, really. One that had been taken merely to fill the paid-for film of the photographer's camera. The other photographs had been much more formal. The traditional, annual Fowl family photograph. This one, however, was different. It showed six people, rather than the usual three.

At the edges, not so much grinning as _glaring_, stood the two giants - the Butlers elders, guarding even when they should have been relaxed. In the middle, sat on the grass, were two children, Juliet with her arm wrapped around Artemis Junior's shoulders, pulling him towards her. The boy did not look so impressed at the fact, but his mouth was open in a somewhat-cheerful shout of indignation at his treatment. Behind them, Artemis Senior himself stood, lips planted on his wife's cheek and arms looped round her waist as though they were dancing, her face aglow with a happy smile. A few short years ago, he would have had the photo discarded. But Angeline had adored it from the moment she'd set eyes on it and refused to allow him to do so at the time.

How grateful he was of that now.

He ran a hand over the glass, clearing the minute amount of dust the maid must have missed in her cleaning.

His thumb paused over the face of his bodyguard, sighing before replacing the frame in its rightful place. Even his expert on communication technology hadn't been able to trace the call he'd received, although once he had awoken the next day, he'd almost thought the whole thing had been a strange dream after all.

He stood up stiffly, stretching his artificial leg before leaving the room with the intention on checking on his wife. He had reached the landing when he heard an engine approaching. No, not one engine. _Two_. He wondered vaguely who it was, but Butler would deal with it.

And then he remembered that Butler was away, probably in search of his charge. And so he descended the stairs, heading for the front door to see for himself.

As he passed the guard's room, one of the security men opened a view of the front door on his CCTV screen and called after him.

"Wait a second if you would, sir."

"Why, who is it?"

"It's Butler, sir. But he's brought someone else with him. They've not been vetted sir..."

"Who, Juliet? I can assure you she doesn't need _'vetting', _as you put it. Besides, Angeline will be delighted if she's paying a visit. She treats the girl as the daughter she never had."

"Well yes, of course, sir. But there's someone else with them too, sir. Another man. I don't recognise him but he was driving the Bentley, sir."

"Driving the…" Artemis petered off in surprise. "Well then he's _definitely_ no threat. Butler wouldn't entrust _me_ with that car, let _alone_ a hostile."

"Sir, I really think _I_ should…"

"Oh enough! I have known Butler long enough to trust his judgement on people and I think I can answer my own front door…" Artemis grumbled at his employee, reaching for the door handle.

He wondered who on earth Butler had allowed to travel in the _Bentley _of all vehicles. He barely allowed the professional chauffers to drive it. Artemis felt a pang of pain as he remembered the exact reason _why _that was. A piece of The Major still lived within its chassis, or so he thought. Yet still he hadn't been able to bring himself to use the car since the man's death over five years ago. His son had though. Often, apparently. It was almost as if the car was a joint family heirloom, passed down the generations. Perhaps not exactly father-to-son for the Butlers, but close enough.

_Major was much more of a father to Butler than I ever was to Arty,_ he thought bitterly.

Then he rolled his shoulders, shaking himself free from the thoughts. He could hardly go on and meet his guests if he was misty eyed and dwelling on the past. And so he swallowed his emotions and opened the door firmly, stepping out onto the top step.

On the gravel below him were two vehicles that could not possibly be less alike if someone had tried to make them so. One was a rusted, clapped-out old van which Artemis recognised as being the one he had seen Butler fixing from time to time in one of the garages. And the other was The Major's prized possession - the Bentley - standing proud and gleaming in the setting sun.

Stood by the ridiculously opposing vehicles were three people, their faces hidden by the shadows in dimming light of sunset. Still, he recognised the front two instantly and raised a hand in welcome.

Butler inclined his head to him slightly. "Evening, Mr. Fowl."

"Good evening, Butler, Juliet," the Fowl patriarch greeted them, looking over their heads interestedly at the third person. "Did you have a good... ah, trip?"

"Yes thank-you, sir," Butler told him.

For some reason, Artemis thought the man seemed almost _pleased_ with himself. How out of character. The Butlers rarely bragged, although Lord knew they had more than adequate reason to, if they felt like it.

"And I hope you don't mind," continued the bodyguard. "But I brought someone home."

Artemis was confused by this statement. He'd rather hoped that one day he'd hear the same phrase from his son, but he'd never imagined hearing it from Butler. Plus, the_ 'someone'_ was clearly male and roughly the size of the man in question. Not that Artemis didn't have an open mind on people's… _personal choices_…but...

"We think you might recognise him," Juliet smiled, grabbing the arm of the unidentified person and pulling him forward. Then she added, with her usual youthful charm and humour. "Look what the cat dragged in, sir."

Artemis was quite sure he had only ever met a handful of Butler's acquaintances and the man at the back didn't seem to strike any bells...

Or at least until he stepped forward and his face was illuminated the light spilling from the front door onto the gravel and Artemis's one biological knee almost collapsed in shock.

"Hello, sir," said The Major.

* * *

**Ridiculously long A/N, as promised.**

**This is your warning, just like in card games when you're not allowed to finish and win unless you remember to say it. Or maybe that's just my family...**

**Anyway.**

**Last card!**

**There's one chapter left.**

**I almost apologise for that, but this fic is my longest ever already and I think I've dragged it on a bit long as it is. Wouldn't want to overfeed you all or anything... :)**

_**That's also a subtle warning that if you want to get on the final thanks list this is your last chance to do so - seats in 'The Butler-Mobile' are up for grabs people!**_

**For people who don't know who/what Flintstones are - Google them. They have a 'car' made mostly of wooden struts, a roof made of foliage, two stone rollers for wheels, with no floor and no engine so they basically run everywhere but sat down under a canopy of leaves... which is quite odd, but hey, it's a cartoon about cavemen so I think they can get away with it!**

**And finally, bumper-stickers on The Butler-Mobile also include:  
(because I know you're desperate to find out)**

_**'Never do anything you wouldn't want to explain to the paramedics'**_**  
**

_**'My day is not complete until I've terrified a complete stranger'**_

_**'Horn broken, watch for finger'**_

_**'Honk if something falls off'**_

_**'Silence is Golden but Duct Tape is Silver'**_

**and**

_**'I beat up 6 hippies and all I got was this crappy van...'**_

**Yeah. Um... some of them came with it.**

**Honest...**

**And by the way, I _would_ actually like to thank you, but does anyone else think that FanFic shouldn't just assume that? I mean, what if it was a flame and that little box comes up after you review saying the author would like to thank you for your continued support?**

**Anyhoo, ****here goes. The next chapter is the last one and it's been a hell of a ride, so thanks guys!**

**Wolfy**  
**ooo**  
**O**


	21. All's Well That Ends Well

**As is customary with all of my big fics, here's the big list of everyone I have to thank for taking the time to let me know what you think of my writing. If you don't want to know about my unending gratitude (lil bit dramatic there) feel free to exercise your scrolling finger.**

**Here goes!**

**Thanks to: **

**_*Shadow Huntress* *_****_Fowl Star 57* *Steinbock* *animato22* *HolidayBoredom* *Sandd* *2whitie* *AriLivesNotDylan* *Crazy Female LEPrecon* *Shadow914* *FFcrazy15* *Beckett Simpleton* *Alchemechanist* *Jolinnn*_**

**(And also an anonymous *'Guest'* who I suspect by the speed of the review was Sandd anyway haha)**

**for the reviews you wrote to let me know exactly what you guys thought of my latest expression of Butler-ness and made me thoroughly enjoy writing FanFic - yet again.**

**Most of you were serial-reviewers who've been with me the whole way on this journey and I think that deserves your very own seat in the Butler-mobile, maybe even with a little bronze plaque on it with your name on it, if you like. ****Except you, _HolidayBoredom_, you can have that armchair strapped to the roof with your Ray Bans and cosmopolitan which you asked for way back in Chapter One. Although with the weather we've been having over here you probably want to add 'large brolly' to your request list haha ;)  
(And that's 'umbrella' to people who don't understand the wonderfully insane vocabulary-world that is English slang...)**

**So yeah, enjoy your seat and squabble amongst yourselves for the ones by the windows. Although Juliet has already called shot-gun and no, you _cannot_ drive it, he'd kill me.**

**And also a thanks has to go to:**

_***ReaderGirl99* *2whitie* *animato22* *AriLivesNotDylan* *Alchemechanist* *NobodySomebodyAnybody* *PromptDreamer-PSAscience* *Fowl Star 57* *Steinbock* *****Lucia Deluna* *Shadow914* *Sandd* *awsd* *xSeverusxCrookshanksx* *Hooey* *2whitie* *Crazy Female LEPrecon* *Jolinnn***_

**for Faving and Alerting this fic and/or me just to let me know in the background that you were along for the ride.**

**Congrats if your name is on both lists.**

**That means that you're more awesome than jumping out of a third story window on a mattress :)**

**And I know from taking sneaky looks at the story traffic stats every now-and-then that there were many more ****of you ****than just the mentioned ones above reading, but if you'd rather remain anonymous I understand. If not, feel free to let me know you were here with us all along 'cause this'll be your last chance on this fic.**

**Well, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!**

**WARNINGS: Swearing, gruff-somewhat-emotional Butler-ness and the end of Dead in Absentia.**

_**Big Thanks to all of you, every single one of those notification emails is very, very, much appreciated!  
**_

_**Enjoy the last chapter, you deserve it!**_

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY ONE**

_**All's Well That Ends Well**_

**FOWL MANOR, DUBLIN, IRELAND**

After the initial sight of the supposedly-dead man and Artemis almost falling down the stone steps in his shock, he had abandoned all decorum and descended the flight almost too quickly for his biomechanical leg to keep up.

"Major? Oh my good Lord... _Major?_ Is it... is it really you?"

Perhaps he remembered that his bodyguard had had a twin and worried that the younger Butlers had brought home their father rather than their uncle. Although both twin Butlers were supposed to be dead anyway.

"Yes, sir. It's me," The Major nodded, instantly noticing the distinct change in his charge's gait from what it had always been, building fury barely hidden on his face.

Butler winced inwardly.

_Ah. Might've forgotten to mention that small fact…_

"_How_… how are you… _how?_" Artemis stammered reaching out as though to touch his bodyguard and check he was flesh and blood. He overbalanced in his haste and would have fallen if it wasn't for The Major grabbing his shoulder and holding him at arm's length to check him for further evidence of serious injuries. The man had a few scars, but nothing life changing. Other than...

"You lost a _leg?_" the giant demanded, steadying his charge automatically. He remembered it now. The break. He remembered dragging his charge over the edge of the ship and into the water. He knew from his nephew that the man had been missing for two years before they found him, kidnapped by the same men they had just disposed of back in Russia. But he had assumed they would have treated his charge medically, after all a dead hostage was far less useful than a live one. But to hack it off rather than repair the damage...

"Never mind my flaming _leg_," Artemis cried, choking the words over the lump in his throat. "I lost _you!"_

There was a silence that seemed to last an age, before all composure left the Fowl and he stepped forward, throwing his arms as far as he could reach around the bulk of his manservant, his shoulders wracked with tremors. The Major stood, almost awkwardly for a moment before folding his own massive arms over the back of his charge and ducking his head to hear the muffled curses the man was yelling into his chest.

"Legs can be replaced, goddamnit! But I could never, _never_ replace you… Don't you ever, _ever _do that to me again, you stupid, idiotic, great _oaf_…"

"Well I hardly did it on purpose, Artemis..."

"I don't _care!"_

It was as though that with the return of his bodyguard, the grown man had reverted to a childish state. The Major discreetly hoped it wouldn't be permanent, but stood steady and strong against the torrent of emotion and patted his charge on the back gently.

"Hush, Artemis, it's alright. It's alright now."

Artemis's response was barely coherent but his bodyguard nodded all the same and murmured a response quietly. Perhaps he understood him anyway, or perhaps it was the fact that words weren't required.

Butler and Juliet stood back, not wanting to intrude, but when Mr. Fowl finally broke away from The Major and had dabbed his face with the hem of his sleeves, he turned to them and spoke, tears still dampening his cheeks as he did.

"I… I don't know where you found him and… and I_ certainly_ don't know _how_, but… thank-you… just… thank-you. And… and I _know _how much this must mean to you two too and…and… I don't know what to say. I'm… I'm afraid I've never had to deal with a situation like this before," he laughed almost hysterically and The Major placed a massive palm on his charge's shoulder.

"What you said is just fine, Artemis," he rumbled quietly. "Just fine. Although I'd appreciate it if you toned down the insults. I would have come back sooner if I could."

"But where have you _been_, old friend? Why…? _How…?_"

"Inside, perhaps? Over a cup of something?" The Major suggested gently, indicating the still wide-open doors of the manor. The doors which, he noticed, were not nearly as old as they should have been. Nor was the doorway the grand wooden portals were set in, the same as it had once been.

_Why on Earth would they replace the entire front entrance..._

He'd ask later.

"Yes," Artemis nodded. He kept staring as though he wasn't sure whether or not to believe his eyes, as though he was afraid that if he blinked the mirage would vanish and he would awake in his bed, it all having been only a vivid dream. "Of course. Of course. Then you can tell me _everything_. I'll summon someone to get us a pot of tea…"

He started stiffly up the steps with his bodyguard close behind, hand on his back as always as he helped him carefully up the stairs.

"Or a couple of bottles of brandy," Butler muttered under his breath, before starting to follow the pair.

The Major turned and mouthed to him, pointing the finger of disapproving authority. 'I heard that. And I'll be having _words_ with you later…'

Juliet laughed and Butler shrugged. What was there to say?

_Sorry Uncle, the leg thing just slipped my mind, what with you not being dead and all…_

As they went inside, a man with his back to them was reprimanding a junior employee.

None of the staff currently employed had been there before the fateful trip to Russia.

Bar one, that was.

"Yes I know the protocol, thank-you very much, Micky. I helped to write most of it."

"But…"

"No buts. How many times have I told you? Anything Butler does is fine by me and will be absolutely _no threat_ to the Fowls. Hell, if he wants to bring a flaming army of flying elves into the grounds then I have _no_ problem with it. Now who's this guy you're getting so worked up about?"

"I don't know. I mean, he looks like he could be another Butler and he's… well he's there, sir. With Mr. Fowl," Micky gestured.

"And he'd like you to look a bit closer before you pronounce him dead next time, Harvey," said a deep, gravelly, almost-forgotten voice.

Harvey span round and almost fell over with the shock.

"M…Major?" Harvey stuttered. "How…_ how_…?"

"Yes, I'm getting that a lot recently."

"But I saw you. I saw you and you were definitely, _definitely _dead," Harvey said, images he'd pushed away for years resurfacing unpleasantly. Very unpleasantly at that.

"Someone was. It just wasn't me."

"Not that I'm not glad and all that, but _how…_"

At that moment, Angeline reached the top of the stairs and called down to her husband.

"Timmy? Timmy, where are you? I have some wonderful news…" she petered off as she saw the ensemble of people in the entrance of the grand hallway. "Oh my goodness is that..."

"Yes, dear," Artemis said, beaming. "He's come home."

* * *

"Well… then I guess then I'm not the only one that can come back from the dead…" Artemis said quietly. He was still pale, sat in his chair in his study, but at least now he could _look_ at his bodyguard without his hands shaking and mind screaming at him that it was all a lie, a dream he would wake up from as bitter and as saddened as ever that he had never got to say a proper goodbye to the man who was, quite possibly, the sole reason he was alive today.

"No, I guess not, sir," The Major smiled at him, chin resting on his hands, elbows resting on the arms of the chair which had been absent of his presence for such a long, long time.

"Will you be staying with us long?" Artemis asked hopefully.

"For a while," The Major nodded. "But then I'll have to get back to Russia at some point or Zory will come after me."

"Oh then you must let him, Major," Artemis said excitedly. "I'd love to meet the people I owe my bodyguard's life too."

"Well I wouldn't be if it wasn't for those two, either," The Major said, gesturing downstairs to where his niece and nephew were relaying the story to Harvey and Mrs. Fowl. An edited version, that was. No need for the world to know_ exactly_ why a section of the Russian Mafia was suddenly in such disarray. "But I'm sure Aramazd and Zory would love to visit at some point."

"Then we must arrange it immediately. If I could do _anything_ to repay them. Anything!"

"They won't want repayment, sir. Except perhaps me back for a few months of the year."

"Well, I did hope they would consider sharing you," Artemis said jokingly. "Are you sure there isn't anything I could do as thanks?"

A thought struck The Major just then. Perhaps there was a way Artemis _could_ pay back the Kochanskiis. Or at least one of them, anyway.

"Actually, sir. There is _something _you could do. The young lad, Zory, has always been very interested into going into a career in medicine. I don't suppose you could see about getting him a place at a medical school? Somewhere not too far from home, of course."

"Oh definitely! That should be no problem at all. It'd be the least I could do for him. I'll get someone onto it right away. Where's my blasted pen..."

The Major found himself smiling fondly. Artemis always had gabbled when he was excited. He reached a hand out to the desk and plucked the golden fountain pen from the stand where it had always been kept and where Artemis always forgot it was.

"Here, sir," he held it out for his charge.

"Thank-you, Major," Artemis said automatically, then smiled. "It feels good to say that again."

"It feels good to hear it," The Major admitted as Artemis scribbled himself a reminder. Bright, his charge was. Very bright. But the man had always had a memory like a sieve. At least his bodyguard had the excuse of multiple incidents of head trauma to blame for any occasional slip-ups.

"Of course," Artemis began slowly. "I don't expect you to guard me anymore. I'm convinced I'll cope without you having to run round everywhere after me."

The Major controlled the smirk that was itching to show at that comment. The only running he could ever remember doing after Artemis that hadn't involved a threat to his life had been when, as a teenager, Artemis had gone through a phase where he was convinced that fitness was the way forward and demanded that his bodyguard aid him in his quest to become more physically able. It had been a brief phase, to say the least.

"Yes, somehow I have survived without you, much to everyone's surprise, I suspect…"

"I'm sure you managed perfectly, sir."

"And that's another thing," Artemis continued. "Don't 'sir' me anymore, Major. It's quite absurd for me to pretend to be above you in any manner at all. You can call me Artemis all the time from now on. Hell, even call me Tim, if you like. You've more than earned the right to call me by my name."

"And you, me by mine," said The Major seriously. "If you want to, that is."

"No!" Artemis interrupted. "No. No, don't tell me your name. That would be… well it would be… peculiar."

The Major frowned. He distinctly remembered that part of the whole boat-explosion saga. He had told Artemis his true name. He was sure of it. Was it possible that the man could have forgotten?

"But sir…"

"Artemis," the Fowl corrected.

"Artemis…" the Butler started, then paused.

"Yes?"

The Major looked at his charge for any glimmer of a memory.

"What? What is it, old friend?"

"Nothing, Artemis," The Major said, hiding his amused smile with a sip of tea. "Nothing."

Apparently he wasn't the only one with memory-loss.

There was a knock at the door which prevented Artemis from asking exactly what he meant.

"Yes? Come in."

The door opened and Juliet stuck her head through the gap, wincing when she scraped her freshly-dressed neck on the wall.

"Erm… Mrs. Fowl was just wondering whether you two coming down any time soon?" she asked. "Because she says she has some news to tell us."

"Summons, Major," Artemis said cheerily, pushing himself up out of his chair. "Well, we best go. Angeline's been having some rather _vibrant_ mood swings of late. We wouldn't want to annoy her."

"That we wouldn't," The Major agreed. He had some rather painful memories of Angeline Fowl's temper towards her husband and, more than occasionally, himself for assisting Artemis in whatever it was he had gotten himself into trouble about this time. It made him rather grateful that marriage was a minute possibility in his life. He suspected his nephew had similar experiences and views on the matter. Only his experiences of the wrath of Mrs. Fowl would be of being on the end of a _mother's_ wrath to her son and himself which was, if possible, even worse.

* * *

Downstairs, Angeline gathered the three Butlers and two Fowls together in the lounge room.

Originally she gestured for all four to sit on the long sofa opposite her, but upon realising that the two larger Butlers barely fit comfortably on it as it was, her husband took his place in his usual armchair. Juliet glanced around the room, realised there was only one chair left and left it for Mrs. Fowl. Instead she squeezed herself between her relatives, too some grumbling, but once Angeline began to speak, they all fell respectfully silent.

"Well… everyone…" she began nervously. "I… well I rather worry that you'll all think I'm trying to steal your thunder, Major, but I _honestly_ couldn't wait until tomorrow, as I was going to when I saw you arrived…and..."

"What is it, darling?" Artemis asked, leaning over and taking her hand in his own and patting it gently.

"Well…" Angeline paused again, looking around at the expectant faces. "Well, Timmy dear, I'm... I'm pregnant."

To be fair on Artemis, he had had rather enough surprises already for one day and so it wasn't a surprise that he leant back in his chair and lolled his head onto the back of it.

"That's fantastic news, Mrs. F," Juliet whispered. "But has he just passed out?"

"No," The Major said confidently. If there was anyone who knew his charge better than he did, he had yet to meet them. "He's just running the facts by himself again."

"Indeed, I am," Artemis murmured, his voice oddly distorted by the angle of his head.

"And… are you_ pleased_?" Angeline asked nervously, her hands automatically covering her stomach protectively.

Artemis sat up very slowly and looked her in the eye.

"Darling, I'm ecstatic!" he beamed broadly, leaping up with much more agility than a one-legged man could feasibly be expected to have and swinging his wife around the living-room. "Since when? How long? Oh my good gracious… _pregnant!_"

As the questions flowed and celebratory (non-alcoholic, of course) drinks were brought in by other members of staff, Butler found a moment to exit the room quietly and did so, heading for somewhere he knew he would be well away from the happy, laughing people eagerly awaiting the new Fowl heir.

Juliet noticed her brother's absence almost immediately and took a step towards the door. A large hand landed on her shoulder and she span round, arms raising in readiness to protect herself.

"I'll go," he uncle said, patting her on the cheek gently. "I've five years worth of sorting him out to make up for."

"Thanks, Uncle," she murmured as he ducked out of the door.

She had been trying to get through to her brother for a while. God knew she'd tried her best, but none of her usual tactics seemed to work. Her uncle would know the right words to say where she hadn't. Her brother was practically a younger copy of him. He'd know how to get through to him. Or at least she hoped he would.

* * *

The Major closed the door behind him, shutting off the hubbub of noise from the other side. It swung silently on its hinges, he noted, pleased with the fact. He had taught his nephew well.

He wandered through the great hall, his feet taking him where his mind knew his nephew had taken refuge. It was one of two places he would be and since he hadn't heard the tell-tale noise of an engine starting up, he reckoned his nephew would still be in the manor. If Dom had felt like heading out to the point, he'd probably not bother following. Even when he had been alive (the first time) he'd respected the fact that his nephew preferred to deal with things by himself. Even if sometimes he didn't agree with it.

The Major thought back to a time when his nephew had been smaller than him and actually needed looking after. When he had been a lad, Domovoi had spent a good portion of the six months he was away from the Academy here at the manor, training with his uncle. His mother, Theresa, had thought that he'd needed a male figure, a role-model, in his life. A better one than that boyfriend of hers, anyway. The Major felt the anger return when he thought about that. Angry at Theresa for not telling the man to stick it. Angry at Dom for not telling him about him sooner and letting him get involved. Angry at his brother for disappearing off the face of the earth. Although that last one was probably a bit hypocritical now, blaming someone for leaving everyone else behind without warning.

_You had an excuse,_ his subconscious self pointed out.

_Ah, I wondered when you would be back._

Shaking his head free of his inner conversations, wondering if it was a good or a bad thing that yet another trait from his past had returned, he padded across the wooden floor, wondering exactly _what_ had happened to one of the suits of armour stood in an alcove. He could have sworn it had never been that dented in the past...

Putting it down as one of those things he'd have to ask his nephew about later, he turned automatically down the corridor that lead to a part of the manor the Fowls very rarely visited, determined to knock the maudlin out of a certain half-Irish Blue-Diamond.

Reaching the double doors he paused, listening.

"Stupid fucking _idiot._"

The murmured self-inflicted curses drew The Major's attention to the exact location of his nephew. He was in the gym, just as he had expected. Although for once, he was not beating the living daylights out of some poor, defenceless punch-bag. Instead he was sat, chin on his fists, motionless on one of the benches, his gaze boring a hole in the wall opposite.

"First sign of madness, that is - talking to yourself," he announced his presence, fairly pleased that his nephew did actually flinch.

_Still got it,_ The Major thought smugly.

Then his mood turned more sombre as he sat down next to him and twitched slightly at the memory of sinking down onto the very same bench next to his brother - what felt like a lifetime ago now.

"I don't need a _'They're Not Replacing Him'_ speech, thanks all the same," Butler muttered. "I already know they're not."

"Who said I was going to say anything?" The Major asked, raising his eyebrows. "Although that's good to know."

Butler didn't say anything so The Major let him brood for a while. But not _too_ long. Stewing over something was never the way forward.

"We'll find him, Dom."

His nephew grunted, dropping his forehead onto his palms and scraping his fingers through his short hair.

"Believe it," The Major said seriously, clamping a hand on his shoulder. "You're better than you think you are. Always have been."

"Yeah?" Butler looked at him. "And what makes _you _so sure of that?"

"Well, you found me," The Major said simply. "And I was supposed to be dead."

"_Accidently_ found you, you mean."

"Pssht - minor detail," The Major waved the words away. "Besides, I'm here to help you now. No way the little tyke is going to hide from the both of us, eh?"

Even Butler smiled slightly at that, but he could hardly tell his uncle that, actually, he knew _exactly_ where his charge was, just not _when. _Or _where_ or _how_ or even_ if_ he'd be coming back. If he started spouting off about Limbo, he somehow thought that even his uncle would probably consider signing him into a psych ward and patting him on the head with something along the lines of 'You'll be alright lad, lotta stress in this job. Bound to send you off the wall at some point…'

"Right. Come on. We'd best be getting back to this quickly-developing party before Juliet comes to find us…"

"Too late," a cheerful voice said, accompanied by the loud slamming of the gym doors.

"She never grew out of the whole door thing?" The Major asked quietly.

"Nope," Butler replied tiredly.

"Ah, _there's_ my two favourite guys in the world," she beamed at them, pushing herself between them for the second time that evening and drawing them into a hug. If they didn't know her better, they'd suspect she'd been drinking. Then again, Juliet was good at getting high on nothing but life itself. And with her uncle back from the dead and the promise of a baby to look after, she was close to ecstatic.

"So Hogman got pushed off the top-spot, did he?" Butler asked dully.

"Who?" The Major frowned.

"Nevermind."

"So, you two party-poopers coming back or what?" Juliet asked, ignoring her brother. "They're just bringing the food out now."

"Maybe later."

"Oh come on you - free food! It's party food too! You can't turn down an offer like that!" Juliet cajoled. "Aren't you even a _little_ bit excited about the whole pregnant thing? I feel like I'm gonna be an auntie or something!"

"Well I can assure you that I had nothing to do with the… _creation_ of this baby," Butler muttered as she dragged him to his feet. "Or, for that fact, any other."

"Indeed," The Major agreed. "Children - eh? Who'd have 'em?"

"Err… yuk! Hell no. It's bad enough thinking about Mr. Fowl getting his leg over without thinking about you two as well. _Especially_ when there's no cute little baby as the end result…"

"I genuinely cannot believe you just said that, young lady," The Major groaned as they made their way out of the gym.

"Because of the whole one-leg thing?" Juliet asked innocently.

"No. Yes. No…_ the whole statement in general!" _The Major said exasperatedly.

And then suddenly she was laughing so hard at the pair of them that they were momentarily worried she would pass out from lack of air. Her laughter was, as always, highly infectious and before a few seconds had passed, even her taciturn relatives were fighting to control the urge to join her. She righted herself, still grinning and slung one of their arms each over her shoulders as she stood in the middle of them.

"Things are going to get better, you know?"

"Well after the week we've had I'd be surprised if it got any worse," The Major said drily.

"Oh don't say that..." Juliet groaned, thumping him in the arm. "You'll jinx it!"

Butler thought about all the situations he'd gotten into with Artemis Junior and how life might be just a little easier if he knew he could call upon his uncle in an emergency. Of course that would involve some serious negotiation with Foaly - who he should probably call and tell about the whole 'dispatching-the-Mafia' incident - but somehow he doubted that, if it came to it in an emergency, the fairies would turn down the offer of another Butler on their side.

He made as though to speak, then closed his jaws again with a click.

"What?" asked his uncle.

"Nothing."

"Ah come on now, Dom," The Major chuckled. "You know you can't lie to me."

"No, but he won't admit that he missed you either," Juliet said, reading her brother like a book.

"He knows I don't need to hear it," their uncle shrugged. "I'd be pretty insulted if you hadn't."

"Aww come on guys, a little emotion maybe?" Juliet cajoled.

The males of her family sighed and grumbled at her. They were bodyguards by blood, not just training. Emotion was not a high trait in their personalities by nature, not just by nurture.

"I'm glad you're back," Butler admitted finally.

"Me too," Juliet added, squeezing them together as tightly as she could.

"Yeah, and me," The Major said gruffly.

He looked at his family and thought about the last time they had walked like this. Probably never. Before his bash to the head The Major had never been one for mushy, family moments. But once, they had walked through the park and Juliet had begged for quite some time in her five-year-old's brain to be swung into the air and eventually, by some fluke chance of a half-free day coinciding with a good mood, her brother and uncle had relented and each held a hand as she swung herself, hardly needing their aid to build momentum and perform flying acrobatics on a miniature scale.

None of the three would admit it, but each remembered that day at that moment and were glad of eachother's company once again.

"We'd best be getting back. Me especially, before Artemis manages to choke himself on a cocktail stick or something," The Major said, bodyguard instinct fully re-awakened now.

"Unlikely," Butler noted.

"But possible, m'boy," The Major said, clapping his nephew on the back heavily. "Especially with…"

"A Fowl," Butler and Juliet finished the sentence together.

"_Exactly_," said The Major.

It was good to be home.

* * *

**Well I hope that wrapped it all up nicely for you all. It got a bit out of hand when I was writing it and probably could have been another split chapter but I think it's better all together. Plus, this fic is now one of the fourteen fics in this area of FanFic that's over 100,000 words. Only just, but hey haha :)**

**(Woop Woop for my over-active, runaway imagination making an originally 40K story more than double in length)**

**I hope that's tied up loose ends and not left you hanging on anything but if I missed anything out, feel free to ask me about it.**

**Quick note: 'Vagari' basically means 'Wanderer' in Latin. That will make sense in a bit. So will the fact that you never see The Major in the books after the three years Artemis Junior was 'missing' in Limbo. No, he's definitely not dead. I just reckon that Colfer wouldn't bother mentioning him if he wasn't staying at the manor at the time the next books took place. Which is entirely plausible as Artemis Junior and Butler are barely ever at the manor when there's something fairy-related going on. Except for in the next book, apparently. Personally, I hold on hope for The Major's miraculous return to help beat up these fairy warrior things. Then this whole story could be canon - oh yeah ;) And even if he doesn't turn up to save the day (because come on, it would be a little unfair on the fairy guys if they were up against all _three_ Butlers - they wouldn't last very long and it would be a_ really_ short book which would be a shame) this story will still always be canon in my head. I hold serious grudges against Colfer for continuously trying to kill off Butlers. It's not supposed to happen! They're invincible, remember?**

**Maybe you noticed I'd never really ask for reviews. And so I'm not asking now either. But I will say that I will reply to everyone as thanks so long as you sign in and accept PMs and whatnot. And I do want to thank you all, but I can only do it like this unless you tell me what you think in a review. Just so you know :)**

**Other than that, I think I did my extended thanking up there at the top, but just to remind you that your opinions on my writing are very much appreciated and I'm sure will play a huge part in convincing me one day to get original stories published for real where I can write stories and actually earn something more than just good feeling from it.**

**And yes I realise that some of those words or so are actually A/Ns but ah well.**

**Just for your info, I'll probably be away from computer-ness for the next week-or-so, so no, I'm not ignoring your review, being ignorant and ungrateful, I ****just ****genuinely won't have seen it yet. I will reply to every single one of you to thank you personally when I get back - assuming you aren't anonymous without an account or don't allow PMs :)**

**Right, this will probably be it for a while so maybe ****see you next in Lil Rems I guess.**

**Tarrah for now!**

**Wolfy**  
**ooo**  
**O**

**...And because I couldn't leave you like that, I thought I'd add a little bit more on the end here. ****Enjoy :)**

* * *

**EPILOGUE**

**MURMANSK, NORTHERN RUSSIA - SEVEN AND A HALF MONTHS LATER**

Approximately seven and a half months later, Zory dropped the post onto the table, sorting it into piles quickly.

The cat that had taken up residence in their house stalked across the table towards the one who resembled the first big man from the alley and jumped onto his lap, purring deeply.

"_**What do you want? Damn cat…"**_

_**"Aww leave Jaysus alone. He likes you."**_

_**"How many times Zory? You can't go round calling him that. People will take offence."**_

_**"What? Butler said that was the first thing he said to him and he likes it..."**_

_**"Butler also called him 'Vagari', which suits him better."**_

_**"Juliet said she likes 'Jaysus' better."**_

_**"Exactly," **_The Major rolled his eyes. Zory, like Juliet, was one of the few people who could beat him in an argument._** "'Juliet says', indeed."**_

Zory laughed, tossing a smart white envelope towards his friend."_**Letter for you, Art." **_

The Major caught it easily and sliced a knife across the top to open it. Pausing for a second, he turned it over and looked at the post-mark stamped over the stamps in the top right-hand corner.

"_**Where's it from?"**_ Aramazd asked, interestedly.

"_**Irleand,"**_ The Major answered, emptying the envelope.

He was currently back at the Kochanskii's house, as he was for most of the year. He visited Ireland often, but even Artemis had to admit that he was more needed in Russia nowadays.

He tipped the envelope out and onto the desk fell three things. One, a letter addressed to him. Two, a smaller, fatter envelop with _'Zoridon Kochanskii' _typed onto the front and the third item was a photograph, which The Major looked at first.

It was a genuine photograph, he noted. Not merely printed out on paper from a computer. He wondered for a moment why his charge hadn't just emailed him the contents of the envelope, especially since they now had a computer. Zory was almost as pleased with that as he was that his friend had chosen to continue living with them rather than moving back to Ireland. Quite often he'd use it to email Juliet. The Major highly doubted it was reciprocated by his niece, but he suspected Zory had quite a boyish crush on the older teen.

The photograph depicted a man and a woman and two babies. The woman was sat up in a hospital bed with one of the children, the man perched on the edge of the bed holding the other. Both babies seemed ridiculously pink compared to their pale parents and were both wrapped in identical blue blankets.

It had long since been known that Mrs. Fowl was bearing twins, but it was good to see that they had both been born safely.

_Two boys,_ The Major thought. The pair looked identical too. _They'll have their hands full._

And he should know, of course.

_**"She's had them. Two boys,"**_ he said aloud, passing the photograph of Artemis, Angeline and the two new Fowls to Aramazd to look at and chucking the other envelope to Zory.

"_**What is it?" **_Zory asked, tearing it open excitedly.

"_**I don't know - read it,"**_ The Major shrugged, flipping open the folded paper of his own letter.

* * *

_My dear Major,_

_I am writing to you (despite the fact that it is terribly old fashioned and there are quicker means to send you the news which you may already have heard if Juliet has found herself incapable of containing it) to inform you of the birth of my two youngest sons._

_Both healthy, as I am sure is the answer to your first question and Angeline is fine, surely the answer to your second._

_I too, am doing well and adapting somewhat to fatherhood once again, although I very much hope to be a much better father to them than I ever managed to be to my little Arty. Still no news on his return, but I am sure that when he does he will take to brotherhood like a duck to water. We remain hopeful that he will be back with us soon._

_I would like you to know that I plan to base my fathering skills on the way that you brought me up, Major. For you were more of a father to me than my own ever was and I rather think you did a fine job of it, in the end._

_I hope to hear back from you soon and, as usual, look forward to your visit. I cannot wait for you to meet the boys!_

_Best Regards and Warmest Wishes,_

_Artemis. A. Fowl_

_p.s. – The letter to Zory is about his induction into a Medical School. Apologies about the length of time it took me to get things organised._

_p.p.s. - Enclosed is a photo taken the day the twins were born. They are named Myles and Beckett after I overruled Angeline's wishes for Felix and Sebastian. Not entirely, I'm afraid. They are their middle names!_

_Personally I have no idea why the two forenames came to mind, but I like them greatly and hope you approve._

_Tim_

* * *

The Major chuckled to himself and shook his head slightly. It was bitter-sweet that he couldn't rush to tell his own twin brother that they had accidentally been given perhaps the greatest honour of all. But he still smiled. The subconscious was a funny thing. He wondered briefly which was the eldest now that might be a genuine coincidence, for he was fairly sure Artemis had never know who was older out of him and Beckett.

He expected to be questioned upon the contents of the letter almost immediately, but Zory was far too bursting with his own news to ask what he was smiling at. He was busy rattling his own letter in front of his grandfather, gabbling excitedly to him.

"Interesting, isn't it? How things turn out," The Major muttered.

The cat on his lap looked at him quizzically and kneaded his trousers with its needle-sharp claws. He scowled menacingly at it, but it took one glance then ignored him and went about making a nest for itself on his lap. He sighed heavily through his nose but made no move to stop it.

_You're going soft, Myles,_ he thought to himself.

But perhaps that didn't matter so much anymore.

He'd move the cat when he got up in a minute.

After all, there were still things he needed to sort out. The truck had to be washed, the boat needed yet more work done to it, as per usual. And then of course there was the inevitable weekly phonecall from his niece, probably to talk his ear off about the new Fowls and chatter excitedly about the naming 'coincidence'. There were no such things as coincidences, he would tell her of course and then perhaps shout back to his nephew who would be somewhere in the background asking about whether he still wanted the Lear Jet sent over the night before or if he was flying over on a public plane this time for his quarter-annual visit to Fowl Manor.

_Ah, the hectic schedule of a somewhat-ex-bodyguard-come-fisherman_, The Major thought, running one hand over the back of the cat and lifting his mug of tea with the other. _Life could be worse._

* * *

**The End**

**...for now...**


End file.
